Said the Queen to her fancy man at break of day,
stroking her burden with soft finger-tips,
'There's nothing we can say or do will outlive
my heart's last beat, the latest breath of your lips.'

And she sighed, and picked a feather from the bolster
and puffed it in the air, and watched it sail.
'The moments of our love are flakes of dream
falling on a snow-scene, in a fairy tale.'

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Then suddenly her eyes grew big, and her body
stiffened, and she cried with what voice she could find:
'Who are you, tell me, you I have known and loved
in my heart's deep marrow, and in the bones of my mind?'

And that familiar animal from Heaven
with whom she had mixed her soul, and seed, and breath,
lifted his head, and smiled, and kissed her hair,
and taking off his mask of love, was Death.