No Blessed Slumber Given

Thou Death! To me no subtle thing But of common visage, known, Unto my days so well betrothed! Yet in its clutches not Mercy's scythe But cursed quill Which no surcease permits- And granting not that blessed peace Does letless rage and torment, sting and prod 'Til e'en poor Tantalus would hold his lot And not mine, for it, dare barter; For Hades very countenance more fair a thing beheld Than promised Dawns deferred, Each alighting hope but a moment's sigh By Hell's cruel breath consumed 'Til naught but cinders adorns my path And Love, sweet corpse, its darksong warbles...