Come, Death, be imminent while I carouse
To thee; press close against thy meagre lips
This brimming cup, in which my whole soul dips
Its daily ecstasy. Old loves, fierce vows,
All I lift up to thee. I will forget,
To see thy merriment, two merry eyes
And a voice’s laughter. I will grow so wise
That there will be no leisure for regret.
Sweet Death, so swiftly was thy captive taken
He never knew—and now the Spring is here.