She Rose To His Requirement,

A Power Of Butterfly Must Be - The Aptitude To Fly Meadows Of Majesty Concedes And Easy Sweeps Of Sky -

To Possess Is Past The Instant; We Achieve The Joy, Immortality Contented, Were Anomaly.

Nothing More Do I Ask Than To Share With You The Ecstasy And Sacrament Of My Life.

Death Is A Supple Suitor, That Wins At Last. It Is A Stealthy Wooing; Conducted First By Pallid Innuendos And Dim Approach, But Brave At Last With Bugles.

My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close; It Yet Remains To See If Immortality Unveil A Third Event To Me, So Huge, So Hopeless To Conceive, As These That Twice Befell. Parting Is All We Know Of Heaven, And All We Need Of Hell.