Ah, thy snow-coloured hands! once were they chains,
⁠mighty to bind me fast;
Now no blood in them burns, mindless of love, senseless
⁠of passion past.

Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me,
⁠for me;
Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and
⁠lord of thee.

[Pg 99]Sweet, the kisses of death set on thy lips, colder are they
⁠than mine;
Colder surely than past kisses that love poured for thy
⁠lips as wine.

Lov'st thou death? is his face fairer than love's, brighter
⁠to look upon?
Seest thou light in his eyes, light by which love's pales and
⁠is overshone?