(From Lenau.)
If within my heart there's mould,
If the flame of Poesy
And the flame of Love grow cold,
Slay my body utterly.
Swiftly, pause not nor delay;
Let not my life's field be spread
With the ash of feelings dead,
Let thy singer soar away.
To Death
Amy Levy
(3)
Poem topics: away, heart, life, field, cold, body, delay, spread, love, I love you, flame, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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