I FEAR thee not, O Death! nay, oft I pine
To clasp thy passionless bosom to mine own, —
And on thy heart sob out my latest moan,
Ere lapped and lost in thy strange sleep divine;
But much I fear lest that chill breath of thine
Should freeze all tender memories into stone, —
Lest ruthless and malign Oblivion
Quench the last spark that lingers on love's shrine: —
O God! to moulder through dark, dateless years, —
The while all loving ministries shall cease,
And Time assuage the fondest mourner's tears! —
Here lies the sting! — this, this it is to die! —
And yet great Nature rounds all strife with peace,
And life or death, — each rests in mystery!