They shalt close, these eyes of mine;
Mine shrivelled hands wilt lay at rest.
Still I fear not that day's tempest -
For by then I shalt fore'er be thine.
Mine outstretched hands reach for thee,
But the fates defer, they will it not;
As thou rise to greet me as thou ought,
I find mine feet carry me away from thee.
I stand aghast, mine eyes go blind,
Asking reason upon destiny's word.
Can'st human will the least perturb,
Fate that maketh me leave thee behind?
If life be so pointless and numb,
Would'st thou ever need me?
For with solemn words I assure thee,
At your slightest call I shalt succumb.