Death and the Maiden
BARCAROLE ON THE STYX Fair youth with the rose at your lips, A riddle is hid in your eyes; Discard conversational quips, Give over elaborate disguise. The rose’s funeral breath Confirms by intuitive fears; To prove your devotion, Sir Death, Avaunt for a dozen of years. But do not forget to array Your terror in juvenile charms; I shall deeply regret my delay If I sleep in a skeleton’s arms.
Elinor Wylie’s other poems:
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