Classic Poem

Oh that this kiss with life could warm
The whitened lips it dies upon;
That these hot tears could warm to life
That brow more chill than marble stone
Another hour, and they shall come
To bear thee to the last repose;
Beloved, I must take my leave;
This is the close, this is the close.

Wear not to me that look of peace,
That peaceful look of silent rest,
Unlike the look of calm enforced,
When thy still spirit lay oppressed;
Unlike the look which ever sought
My wayward moods to know and meet;
Oh could that gaze come back again,
And raise those wistful eyelids sweet,

That I might kiss it all away,
And bid it so for ever cease,
And fall upon my knees and pray,
And spend my life to win thee peace!
Oh, I could madden o'er thy form,
But I thy rest should discompose;
Thy arm falls coldly back again;
Is this the close, is this the close?