The Golden Darkness/On Death
ON DEATH.
The face of Death is life; all love, all change,
All beauty are the lineaments of his face;
His eyes are soft and beautiful and strange,
They watch me all the time in every place.
All beauty are the lineaments of his face;
His eyes are soft and beautiful and strange,
They watch me all the time in every place.
His breath is silence and darkness his hair;
His hidden heart and hands no living men
Have seen through time's thin veil hung everywhere,
Or known just why they plan there, how . . . or when.
His hidden heart and hands no living men
Have seen through time's thin veil hung everywhere,
Or known just why they plan there, how . . . or when.
Often at night in bitter pillowed ease
I hear in the heartbeats beneath my breath
Down dim red halls of all hushed centuries
The muffled footfalls of approaching Death;
I hear in the heartbeats beneath my breath
Down dim red halls of all hushed centuries
The muffled footfalls of approaching Death;
For he is kind and beautiful and wise,
Death is his own death for the brain that dies.
Death is his own death for the brain that dies.