1

Hold up thy head and crush
Thy heart's despair;
From thy wan temples brush
The tear-wet hair.


2

Look on me thus as I
Gaze upon thee;
Nor question how nor why
Such things can be.


3

Thou thought'st it love! - poor fool!
That which was lust!
Which made thee, beautiful,
Vile as the dust!


4

Thy flesh I craved, thy face! -
Love shrinks at this -
Now on thy lips to place
One farewell kiss! -


5

Weep not, but die! - 'tis given -
And so - farewell! -
Die! - that which makes death heaven,
Makes life a hell.