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The Death of Lovers We shall have beds round which light scents are wafted, Divans which are as deep and wide as tombs; Strange flowers that under brighter skies were grafted Will scent our shelves with rare exotic blooms. When, burning to the last their mortal ardour, Our torch-like hearts their bannered flames unroll, Their double light will kindle all the harder Within the deep, twinned mirror of our soul. One evening made of mystic rose and blue, I will exchange a lightning-flash with you, Like a long sob that bids a last adieu. Later, the Angel, opening the door, Faithful and happy, will at last renew Dulled mirrors, and the flames that leap no more.