  To-day, the fight: my end is very soon, And sealed the warrant limiting my hours: I knew it walking yesterday at noon Down a deserted garden full of flowers. ... Carelessly sang, pinned roses on my breast, Reached for a cherry-bunch—and then, then, Death Blew through the garden from the North and East And blighted every beauty with chill breath. I looked, and ah, my wraith before me stood, His head all battered in by violent blows: The fruit between my lips to clotted blood Was transubstantiate, and the pale rose Smelt sickly, till it seemed through a swift tear-flood That dead men blossomed in the garden-close. |
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