Xi

Thus did she speak. Her voice was like a flame

Of burning blackness. Then I felt the throb Of her still hand in mine. And so I came Gladly unto her. Yea, I, too, would rob Time of his triumphs.--Who would groan and sob Beneath his fardels, hearing sad men sigh When here is cure?--for Life, that, like a lob, Rides us to death; for Love, a godless lie; And Toil and Hunger.--Yea, what fool would fear to die?