I said Come in, death,
be my friend.
She walks in
like violets,
wearing her spangled
oblivion.
Says Call me not
death. Hangs
that perfumed cloak
over the chairback.
Unwrapped she is
a full figure of dying,
promisedark.
Call me
now, she says,
i will be
now to you
forever,
love.
I wanted an end,
a friend, not
this-- Her eyes are
dark gates
opening
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Like death; frightening but lovely.
ReplyDeleteRather this, instead?
http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/crossetti/bearmyself.html
That is perfect, Mr. R.B. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteAlternate Title:
ReplyDeleteIt Looks Like Suicide Wasn't Such A Good Idea After All