He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
— Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
— Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;
— And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
— Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
— Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
— Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.

I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.

He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
— Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
— Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;
— And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
— Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
— Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
— Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.

I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.

He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
— Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
— Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;
— And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
— Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
— Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
— Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.

I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.