'I come, clad as a warrior proud--
What wouldst thou? 'neath my mailed shroud
No fleshless bones appear.'
Extinguish not--oh yet--dear Death!
Love's fire--that burns so bright!
'Oh! I can hold in close embrace,
And though my mouth no warm lips grace,
Behold--my teeth are white!'
Wouldst tear me from my golden hoard
With merciless commands?