Between Death and Longing lay the chasm
that devours every good intention and every
syllable uttered in the throes of night,
every caress, every sigh every whisper of delight

and when comes the wind to sweep it all away the raven calls and lifts his ragged wings to stir the dust and raise the ashes and disturb

the brittle leaves.

Lo, how horribly fleeting is the joy of Love
and how crippling is the agony that's left,...