And my sweetheart was dead.
His skin cold-
A very temple of marble,
His eyes gloomy-
Silver mirror of our soul,
But lips
Oh, his sweet, poisoning lips,
Red
And warm-
Our final kiss.

But my sweetheart was dead.
So I ran into the forest,
The pagan cathedral
Into the middle of wrath,
A pagan temple
For my sweetheart
Who was dead.
Our final kiss.

And there was snow,
Oh, snow,
White as the skin of my marbled lover,
Standing sill, numb
As we rose through it.
Our final kiss
For my lover was dead.