Come creeping did he, as death awoke,
Upon this Sabbath day at the midnight stroke,
And beside her bed did the dark form stand
To take my lover by the hand!
So angelic was she, this I tearfully impart,
For she came from Heaven and into my heart
And so soft and gentle was her hand to hold,
But now to the touch is graven cold!
O’ so young a flower, now unearthly still,
She was my dream that now darkness fills,
For this angelic image that beside I stand,
Death has taken by the hand!
The warmth of life has come and gone,
Leaving the touch of the dark beyond,
Thus within the shadows, behind the light,
Looms the despair that came this night!
Bewildering to the mind it is to understand
Why death would take her by the hand,
For she was all that I was and was to become;
O’ she was an angel that died years too young!
Come creeping did he, when death awoke,
To touch her hand upon the midnight stroke.
I prayed and I prayed, but God did not respond,
Now I suffer the touch from the dark beyond!
Gothic Poetry, Death, Sorrow