Betwixt the death that circumscribes this mournful scenery My love doth bathe in lighted cracks of neolithic heart And though it shines he sees me not and speaks strange words to me My angel sculpted out of stone, indifference is his art. Denied I am but know ye this, his heart does beat for me Can earth not quake, and rock not break, and bastion make move? His rattle and divine schism do whisper stoic poetry Unto mine ear where grace doth build a fortress to my love. And so I press away my soul and urge him still to live Without me gripping fast to stone, what have I still to do? His artful time and cunning eyes he need no longer give No flower ever met a crag and found so sweet to woo. I give my last farewell to thee, make haste, remember well I break my life so passionately, I'll remember thee in Hell.