DEATH SONG OF ALCESTIS.
39
Thou know'st, thou know'st what love is now!
Its glory and its might—
Are they not written on my brow?
And will that image ever quit thy sight?
No! deathless in thy faithful breast,
There shall my memory keep
Its own bright altar-place of rest,
While o'er my grave the cypress-branches weep.
—Oh! the glad light!—the light is fair,
The soft breeze warm and free,
And rich notes fill the scented air,
And all are gifts—my love's last gifts to thee!
Take me to thy warm heart once more!
Night falls—my pulse beats low—
Seek not to quicken, to restore,
Joy is in every pang—I go, I go!
