Nor love, nor wine may warm, descend with me,
And burst the shadowy gates an eager guest.
Abase thy head, and bend thy stubborn knee;
And like a Scythian chief in triumph led,
Welcome the agony that sets thee free.
One short, fierce agony, and all is said;
Beneath the coffin lid, sealed once for all,
Compose thy limbs as in a royal bed.
Swift as the fleeting shadow on the wall
Thy feeble footprints fall along the sand,