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.