How wonderful is Death,
Death and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave
It blushes o'er the world:
Yet both so passing wonderful i
Hath then the gloomy Power
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres
Seized on hersinless soul?
Must then that peerless form
Which love and admiration cannot view
Withouta beating heart, those azure veins
Which steal like streams along a field of snow,
That lovely outline, which is fair
As breathing marble, perish?
Must putrefaction's breath
Leave nothing of this heavenly sight
Butjoathsomeness and ruin?
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme,
On which the lightest heart might moralise .'
Or is it only a sweet slumber
Stealing o'er sensation,
Which the breath of roseate morning
Chaseth into darkness 1
Will Ianthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life, and rapture from her smile?