Might me from living death restore.
'Ambition I would make my bride,
And joy to see her robed in red,
For none through blood so wildly ride
As those whose hearts before have bled;
Yes, even though thou should'st long have laid
Pressed coldly down by churchyard clay,
And though I knew thee thus decayed,
I might smile grimly when away;
'Might give an opiate to my breast,