There shall be couches whence faint odours rise, Divans like sepulchres, deep and profound; Strange flowers that bloomed beneath diviner skies The death-bed of our love shall breathe around.
And guarding their last embers till the end, Our hearts shall be the torches of the shrine, And their two leaping flames shall fade and blend In the twin mirrors of your soul and mine.
And through the eve of rose and mystic blue A beam of love shall pass from me to you, Like a long sigh charged with a last farewell;
And later still an angel, flinging wide The gates, shall bring to life with joyful spell The tarnished mirrors and the flames that died.
End of title
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