It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill.
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow flowers appear.
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill.
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep;
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath
Where hushed awakenings are dear—
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true—
I shall not fail that rendezvous."
Pillowed in silk and scented down
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep;
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath
Where hushed awakenings are dear—
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true—
I shall not fail that rendezvous."
