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253

SONNET V
DEATH'S TENDERNESS

Yea, when death touched me tender was his breast
As thy breast in the vision long ago;
Within the billow of sleep I sank to rest:
Tides crystal-clear above my head did flow.
Absolute peace for almost utter woe
Clothed all my spirit in harness like a flame:
My head sank back, and, sinking backward, lo!
The old immeasurable fragrance came,
The scent of blossoms with no mortal name,
And wrapt me in a regal incense-cloud,
And seemed my very inmost soul to claim,
Bearing it upward in a royal shroud
Through skies, past stars, past suns, past moons and seas,
Beyond the birthplace of the purest breeze.