Oh, give me light, to-day, or let me die,—
The light of love, the love-light of the sky,—
That I, at length, may see my darling's face
One minute's space.
Have I not wept to know myself so weak
That I can feel, not see, the dimpled cheek,
The lips, the eyes, the sunbeams that enfold
Her locks of gold?
Have I not sworn that I will not be wed,
But mate my soul with hers on my death-bed?
The soul can see,— for souls are seraphim,—
When eyes are dim.
Oh, hush! she comes. I know her. She is nigh.
She brings me death, true heart, and I will die.
She brings me love, for love and life are one
Beyond the sun.
This is the measure, this, of all my joys:
Life is a curse and Death's a counterpoise.
Give me thy hand, O sweet one, let me know
Which path I go.
I cannot die if thou be not a-near,
To lead me on to Life's appointed sphere.
O spirit-face, O angel, with thy breath
Kiss me to death!