Shadow Rung Out Of Bloom

Oh, how I wish Death weren't prolonged. Where are you going to my heart of wonder? Chasing gentian folk lightning-tongued Now that the rising pain starts to thunder So still the pause in the flicker of death's eyes. So quick-fan-flamed, the fire kilns bake up our skies. Youth in her wax burns out at both ends of (life) . 'That these daughters of mischance give up being, wivie'. Beauty was her enigma, once cherished to the last How she's ageing older, now haunts a bitter flask! How cold this elongated suns-eclipse by the moon. Love - isn't death just a shadow, wrung out of bloom.