I would raise a slow and majestic hymn to Death,
I would sing over the dust ...
The ages open, and they are bins of dust,
They are bins of the dust of the once-dreaming clay,
They are valleys mounded over
With dust of our unremembered, our fathers and mothers ...
And we shall bring
As gifts our bodies and all of our troubled splendour
To crumble with them, to be silent with them ...

We have come through the dark entry to this life,
We have lived a little while with love and longing,
Now in the end we go
To cool quiet,
Now in the end
There is a laying down of what has risen up ...

We have had youth and desire,
We have not been troubled by ghosts;
Yoked with a god we fought for the glory of fame,
And the crown of power;
We ate the bread, we drank the wine, flesh lay with flesh;
But the bats of the summer dusk are weaving
Cobweb vestures for the dead,
And in the brown air ghosts
Crowd through the gates of the ages.

Before we were born we were indentured to the dark Master,
And we carry a bond in our hearts that must be sealed ...
When the Master calls, we turn, stricken, and go
Naked and queerly alone to the dark exit,
And none is beside us, and the last clasp is unloosened,
And silence and darkness take us.

We but experience
What all have known:
We but endure
What every living soul has alone suffered:
Eager or reluctant we too travel a road more worn
With human feet than all others ...
We that have sung, are silent,
And we that have fought, are princes of peace ...
We make our bivouac with an unending night
And even dreams are done.

Yet are we lovers
Of all-erasing Death:
Life was a restless bride we ravished
But never won,
We lay with her in the midst of battle and our kisses were vain:
Our love grew feverish, balked,
Our tears dropped round our laughter ...
All that we snatched from her, was a flame that passed,
And all that we gave, turned ashes ...

It was then we heard
Another love-call in our hearts,
A longing after some healing, old and forgotten;
It was then the calm beloved face of Death appeared
Far in the backward mist of our depths;
It was then that silence became our treasure,
And sleep grew sweet ...

Then we found we were
Shelterless and unmothered multitudes,
Then we drew again
Great wings of love over our skies,
Dark wings of one who broods
And gives solace and silence ...

I would raise a slow and majestic hymn to Death,
I would sing over the dust ...
I would set aflutter the starry veil of Night
That she wears, sitting in the Deep;
I would lift the veil, and see the shadows of her arms,
And her beautiful dark face,
I would see in her eternal arms the races of men
Resting forever;
I would see her grave and understanding eyes that look upon man;
I would know the other love, which is cool and calm;
And I would praise Death, the secret bride.