As I draw up my breath,
And silver fills my eyes.
I kiss her still,
For she will never rise.
On my weak body,
Lays her dying hand.
Through those meadows of Heaven,
Where we ran.
Like a thief in the night,
The wind blows so light.
It wars with my tears,
That won't dry for many years.
"Loves golden arrow
At her should have fled,
And not d**hs ebon dart
To strike her dead."