Thanatos, thy praise I sing

THANATOS, thy praise I sing, 
Thou immortal, youthful king !
Glorious offerings I will bring ; 
For men say thou hast no shrine, 
And I find thou art divine 
As no other god : thy rage 
Doth preserve the Golden Age, 
What we blame is thy delay ; 
Cut the flowers ere they decay ! 

Come, we would not derogate, 
Age and nipping pains we hate. 
Take us at our best estate : 
While the head bums with the crown, 
In the battle strike us down ! 
At the bride-feast do not think 
From thy summons we should shrink ; 
We would give our latest kiss 
To a life still warm with bliss. 

Come and take us to thy train 
Of dead maidens on the plain 
Where white lilies have no stain ; 
Take us to the youths, that thou 
Lov'st to choose, of fervid brow, 
Unto whom thy dreaded name 
Hath been simply known as Fame : 
With these unpolluted things 
Be our endless revellings.