Tenderly, humbly, upon the charming tomb, The unconscious monument Formed by your overweary grace from shade, Surrenderings, wasteful love, I die, I throw myself upon you, drop, despond, But hardly have I fallen to the sepulcher Whose sealed expanse invites me on to dust, Than her seeming corpse, in which the life revives, Stirs, fires me with her glance, and sinks her teeth In my flesh-and ever tears from me a new Death far dearer than life. |