So still thy ghosts. . .
de la Grange
To thee I pledge my love, so still thy ghosts;
The past, a haunting blows, but reapers chill,
And bade we lay within the darkness close,
Me breathless blue, but you so bluer still;
Against my breast shall love be held agone,
As shadowed lovers frost your pouting lips;
To mourner’s winter doth your love belong,
And ne'er summer sun escape eclipse;
Another season blooms, yet bloom thee not;
Alone, a rose, I wither frostbit cold;
My love, a raging fire, is barely hot,
Within a heart, thy promise over sold;
Alas, I lay a corpse within thy crypt;
With regret, thus, I kiss thee purple-lipped.