The Death of Lovers

We shall have beds round which light scents are wafted, 
Divans which are as deep and wide as tombs;
Strange flowers that under brighter skies were grafted
Will scent our shelves with rare exotic blooms.

When, burning to the last their mortal ardour,
Our torch-like hearts their bannered flames unroll,
Their double light will kindle all the harder
Within the deep, twinned mirror of our soul.

One evening made of mystic rose and blue,
I will exchange a lightning-flash with you, 
Like a long sob that bids a last adieu.

Later, the Angel, opening the door,
Faithful and happy, will at last renew
Dulled mirrors, and the flames that leap no more.