At the End

If now, indeed, O Love, the end be near.
And thou and I — who for so many days
Have struggled on, up steep and perilous ways.
Crying " Good cheer," when there was no good cheer —
Gain now this topmost summit, steep and sheer,
And see below that sad, abysmal place
Where all fair lost things are, whereof one says,
"They rise not ever, who lie buried here," —

If this be so, once more take hands and kiss;
Let our souls rush together as two flames
Of which the wind makes one flame. By Love's bliss,
By all his saddest, most memorial names.
We swear that no love ever, after this.
Shall claim us, till ourselves Death, mightier, claims.