Young soul, put off thy flesh, and come
With me into the quiet tomb,
Our bed is lovely and sweet; The earth will swing us, as she goes,
Beneath our coverlid of snows.
And the warm leaden sheet. Dear and dear is their poisoned note,
The little snakes of silver throat,
In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
Ever singin' 'die, oh! die.'

The Phantom Wooer, Thomas Lovell Beddoes

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