‘Til death approach with bony fingers bared,
‘Til face-to-face I come with that dark ghost,
Until I see his scythe and black cloak paired,
And zombie-like become his latest host,
To give you up shall not be in my heart,
Nor shall I ever seek to harm or hurt.
For if I should from you by will depart,
I would deserve the grave man’s heavy dirt.
You are the hopeful lady of my eye,
And two would form to one if my will spoke
The edict of the earth, and nature’s cry
Would favor us in everlasting yoke.
To me by inch this apparition draws,
So come to me before we’re in his jaws.