From “Clarel” [Dirge]

Stay, Death. Not mine the Christus-wand

Wherewith to charge thee and command:

I plead. Most gently hold the hand

Of her thou leadest far away;

Fear thou to let her naked feet ⁠

Tread ashes—but let mosses sweet

Her footing tempt, where’er ye stray.

Shun Orcus; win the moonlit land

Belulled—the silent meadows lone,

Where never any leaf is blown ⁠

From lily-stem in Azrael’s hand.

There, till her love rejoin her lowly

(Pensive, a shade, but all her own)

On honey feed her, wild and holy;

Or trance her with thy choicest charm. ⁠

And if, ere yet the lover’s free,

Some added dusk thy rule decree—

That shadow only let it be

Thrown in the moon-glade by the palm.