Nor—though we pay his debt—
Shall Death hold mastery.
Your eyes are bright for ever. Your dark hair
Holds an eternal shade. Like a bright sword
Shall flame the vision of your strange sweet ways,
Cleaving the years: and even your smallest word,
Lying forgotten with the things that were,
Shall glow and kindle, burning up the days.
BALLADE OF DAMNABLE THINGS
I do not like a horse to throw me off.