The end wanders through our lives, sweet
The near is end
Is busy with each intake of our breath.
Why do you fear her? Her laughing face

All rosy with the light of jocund grace!
A kind and lovely maiden culling flowers
In a sweet garden fresh with vernal showers
This is the thing we fear, young portress bright

Who opens to our souls the worlds of light?
Is it because the twisted stem must feel
Pain when the tenderest hands its glory steal?
And ghastly now that was so beautiful?

Or is it the opening portal’s horrid jar
That shakes you, feelable souls of courage bare?
Death is but changing our robes to
Wait on wedding garments at the eternal’s gate