Bring me life of fickle breath

BRING me life of fickle breath, 
Bring me death ; 
Summon every hope's alloy ; 
Gather round me what doth most 

Love to boast 
That it can our bliss deflower ! 
There is now no mortal power 
That can feed upon my joy ; 
Every terror is overthrown : 
I have found the magic stone, 
For a dead heart is my own. 

Henceforth is it not pure gold 

To grow old ? 
Let the hours of parting fleet ! 
While to think of what befell 

Is to dwell 
At the mouth o' the honeycomb 
Where the soul-bee hath its home, 
Where the soul-bee hives its sweet. 
And the heaven to come at last ! 
Bravely may I now forecast 
Since I hold the loved one fast.