WHEREIN DEATH WOULD BE SWEET

Each day to me seems as a thousand years
That I my dear and loyal guide pursue,
Who led me through the world and leads me through
By a proved way to life purged of its tears.
Nothing on this familiar earth appears
Tempting enough to lure me: light so new
Illuminates my heart, I cannot rue
Lost time, sweet sin, sick passion, sordid fears.
Not that I need to dread Death and his threats,
Which the Lord suffered with a sharper pain,
That, fixed, intrepid, I His road retain:
It is so recent since — Ah, who forgets! —
He who is Fate entered her every vein,
Yet left her brow undewed with His dark sweats.