Belinda

i would not have you, Belinda, in darkness sit,
on days like this, my hand clasped in hand dead,
remembering sadly your fragrant bed –
each moment therein, what joy we had of it.
rather, while still our lights though dimmed were lit,
bid friends to the parties that once we planned,
happy all the time! until to the dust’s demand,
your soul, not mine, did separately submit.

so, when i come (for you at last will call
and i shall hear and linger not at all) ,
still to your throat, your arms, your loosened hair
will cling and savour your glowing orchid petal’s fresh kiss,
so sweet to me! and doubly sweet for this –
that you for me should have left a place so fair!

Derrick Hubert Schnabel