And put in new,
That the flower of faith be red again.
Ten Lilies and ten Virgins,
And, mild marvel to mine eyes,
Five of the Virgins were foolish,
But all of the lilies were wise.
Look out, Death, I am coming.
Art thou not glad? What talks we'll have, what memories
Of old battles.
Come, bring the bowl, Death; I am thirsty.