To a Dead Lady

Mute and entranced you lie-

Death's bride, Death's lovely bride;

Veil of flesh put by

And garland laid aside.

The marriage night draws in:

No candle-flame, no rose

For courage; dark and thin :

Your bed, dark your repose.

Uncoupled, and Death sped

Into the upper air.

What fruit unheralded

Shall his deep sowing bear?

Death on mortality

Begets unbodied fire

That feeds upon the three

Relics of desire:

The Body's cell on cell,

The swift Mind, and the Soul.

These feed Death's child, and well;

Their substance makes him whole.

What is his name, his state?

Runs he in dark or light?

None living may relate.

The senses can indite

No record, find no trace

Anywhere, no wild

Pathway within space,

Lady, for your child.