Poem by Amy Levy

To Death

  (From Lenau)

If within my heart there's mould,
If the flame of Poesy
And the flame of Love grow cold,
Slay my body utterly.

Swiftly, pause not nor delay;
Let not my life's field be spread
With the ash of feelings dead,
Let thy singer soar away.

1. On the Threshold
2. Ralph to Mary
3. The Piano-Organ
4. A Prayer
5. In the Nower

Caroline Southey To Death ("Come not in terrors clad, to claim")

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