Thou say'st blood is my sole desire?

Alack, sweet lady, 'tis not so!

A sust'nance deeper I require,

Hence weep for woe.

It is thy company I crave!

Why else to rouse my weary corse

And venture from my quiet grave

By weighty force?

Why else endure the endless night

Or brave the sun's hostility?

But for the call of true love's plight

What's life to me?

Far more than blood, I thirst for peace

In sepulchre, forever dim;

From earthly tasks, enjoy surcease

And rest each limb;

Yea, indeed, each day 'twould seem

This somber wish I have fulfilled:

I breathless sleep, and rarely dream,

My heartbeat stilled;

My legs outstretched, and on my vest

My folded hands, in calm array'd;

Yet how could one who's dead and blest

Lie undecayed?

For thee, I rise and ope the gate,

To meet thee in the evening's gloom;

For thee, I can't disintegrate

Safe in my tomb!

Bestow – if still thou canst bestow –

A kindly glance then, as I kneel;

Or better, bask in worship's glow,

For such I feel!

Know my honor is as whole

As this poor body, which doth wake

Reluctantly, just for its soul –

Its thirst to slake!