Why
do you whisper so
faintly in my ears, O Death, my Death?
When
the flowers droop in the evening and cattle come back to their stalls,
you stealthily come to my side and speak words that I do not understand.
Is
this how you must woo and win me with the opiate of drowsy murmur and
cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
Will
there be no proud ceremony for our wedding?
Will
you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks?
Is
there none to carry your banner before you, and will not the night be on
fire with your red torch-lights, O Death, my Death?
Come
with your conch-shells sounding, come in the sleepless night.
Dress
me with a crimson mantle, grasp my hand and take me.
Let
your chariot be ready at my door with your horses neighing impatiently.
Raise
my veil and look at my face proudly, O Death, my Death!