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.