He came in silvern armour, trimmed with black—
A lover come from legends long ago—
With silver spurs and silken plumes a-blow,
And flashing sword caught fast and buckled back
In a carven sheath of Tamarack.
He came with footsteps beautifully slow,
And spoke in voice meticulously low.
He came and Romance followed in his track ....

I did not ask his name—I thought him Love;
I did not care to see his hidden face.
All life seemed born I my intaken breath;
All though seemed flown like some forgotten dove.
He bent to kiss and raised his visor’s lace ...
All eager-lipped I kissed the mouth of Death.