Bring me life of fickle breath

Bring me life of fickle breath,
Bring me death;
Summon every hope's alloy;
Gather round me what doth most
Love to boast
That it can our bliss deflower!
There is now no mortal power
That can feed upon my joy;
Every terror is overthrown:
I have found the magic stone,
For a dead heart is my own.

Henceforth is it not pure gold
To grow old?
Let the hours of parting fleet!
While to think of what befell
Is to dwell
At the mouth o' the honeycomb
Where the soul-bee hath its home,
Where the soul-bee hives its sweet.
And the heaven to come at last!
Bravely may I now forecast
Since I hold the loved one fast.