On Whom the Moon Doth Shine

O soft embalmer of ye still midnight,
Allow me thee to adown,
Of any sort thou fancieth;
Each holdeth its own fancy, I say
Yet the pleasure we partake in
Was caus'd by the fang'd grin,
Save!, do I for him anger hold?
Nay I knew I was fey!
Had I what it taketh I would do;
I sense I cannot sense,
I am yet! I am not
Once I kiss'd the image
Of the Seven Angels of Death
Yet as thou so didst,
On my lips a kiss landéd,
And with the shadows blendéd
The tendermost silken mourn;
In which the light hidden is
Yon Hell's brazen doors
Wrothfully it trieth to push
Then, lo! the Black Death,
Serpent like 'twixt the breasts crept;
Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath,
Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath,
Together red tears they wept,
Together red tears we wept in vain,
And pass'd the procession of dancers dead
And pass'd the procession of dancers dead
As in darkness were we lock'd in wed
As in darkness were we lock'd in wed;
I kiss'd the Seven Angels of Death
And Hell open'd its doors,
Yet what was 'fore my eyes
Yet what was 'fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light
But if not the brightest light