Moriturus Te Salutat
These words that may not reach your heart
Are wrung from mine in bitter pain,
You, reading, but despise their art
That is not art but blood -- in vain
The blood is ebbing from my heart.
The passions of my tortured mind
Trouble but lightly your calm soul --
No ugliness besets the blind --
A shadow on darkness is the whole
Of my misfortune in your mind.
And yet I love you that you say
You will not love me -- truth is hard,
'Twere so much easier to give way
And stay the death-stroke, my reward --
Courage, brave heart! 'tis Love you slay.