Thanatos, thy praise I sing

Thanatos, thy praise I sing,
Thou immortal, youthful king!
Glorious offerings I will bring;
For men say thou hast no shrine,
And I find thou art divine
As no other god: thy rage
Doth preserve the Golden Age,
What we blame is thy delay;
Cut the flowers ere they decay!

Come, we would not derogate,
Age and nipping pains we hate.
Take us at our best estate:
While the head burns with the crown,
In the battle strike us down!
At the bride-feast do not think
From thy summons we should shrink;
We would give our latest kiss
To a life still warm with bliss.

Come and take us to thy train
Of dead maidens on the plain
Where white lilies have no stain;
Take us to the youths, that thou
Lov'st to choose, of fervid brow,
Unto whom thy dreaded name
Hath been simply known as Fame:
With these unpolluted things
Be our endless revellings.