Time will light a candle at your head,
Time will fold your hands across your breast.
Is it enough, the high and candled bed,
Enough that weary hands are caught in rest?

If it be not enough,
Shadowly lift upon your elbow, rise;
Fling out your arms, demanding for them love;
Demanding wrested beauty, lift your eyes.
Listen into the silences for sound
That made a music of your mind, and for
Your feet demand the sweet warmth of the ground,
For your too quiet hair, the wind once more.

And if it be enough,
Lie stiffly there, unmagical with death,
Forever losing sorrow, cleansed of love.
And on the dark will move the candles' breath.