Classic Poem

Oh sweet my darling, when the gloom
Of the sad grave shall hide thee,
I will descend into thy tomb
And nestle close beside thee.

All silent and pallid and cold as thou art—
With trembling, rejoicing, and sighing
I will kiss thee and strain thee, close, close to my heart,
Till I too am swooning and dying.

The dead shall arise at the midnight sound,
In airy circles sweeping,
But thou and I will stay 'neath the ground;
In thine arms shall I be sleeping.

The dead shall arise to delight or despair
As the Judgment Day is breaking;
But we shall lie, without thought or care,
In each other's arms unwaking.