The Passionate EmbraceThe Passionate Embrace
The Passionate Embrace
Lit de Mort
I shall not die within a mad man's cell
Or in the city of unconquered pain
Nor on the ocean in a cockle shell
When mad March winds are blowing hurricane.
I shall not die among the multitude
Or as a martyr tortured at the stake,
I shall not die in business servitude
Nor as a soldier for my country's sake;
But i shall die within my lady's arms
And from her mouth drink down the purple wine
And tremble at the touch of naked charms
With silver fingers seeking to entwine.
My dying words shall be a lover's sighs
Beyond the last faint rhythm of her thighs.