Time is an abyss —
Profound as a thousand nights;
I sojourn my haste, I make respites
For what availeith this eager pace?
One step more naught to face,
Save the heirloom fatal kiss.
I rave no more ‘gainst Time or Fate,
For lo! my own shall ne’er come to me,
Yet! — Who doth my future narrate?
Dim the lights — I cannot see!
Bring forth ye Shadow! —
With whom danceth thou?
Time hath stopp’d —
Yet for others ne’er halteth;
For me the Pages of Life do not turn,
Lo! — on the funeral pyre they burn.
The oh so eathing Velvet Darkness they fear —
Heed! — wherefore delve a burrow,
When in my arms «O! Come here»? —
I say, elsewhither is naught but sorrow!
For what deemest thou so dear thy blood
When through my veins it could flood? —
Bide to merry — make me unaptly;
And hence grant me the fell gift,
The gift of passing on the dark trick.
‘Tis such a brazen act of erotic;
Trifle for thee, yet for me grandly thrift,
O! such an innocence depriv’d so hastily —
Alas, for what deemest thou so dear thy blood
When through my veins it will flood?