I hear the murmurs of the eternal sea That washes round the trembling shores of time; I mark faint whispers from another clime: Death's form at seasons overshadows me. But through it all I part not, sweet, from thee;— Rather our passion waxes more sublime As earthly sounds become like some spent rhyme; Our sacred love-flower blooms eternally. Oh, if thou diest the first, be ever near To lead me upward with love's whisper clear,— To draw me forth with passion's accent fond. When the last loving kiss on earth is given Just as I die, be thine the first in heaven: Before death others kiss; kiss thou beyond! |