If I may have it when it's dead

      I will contented be;

If just as soon as breath is out

      It shall belong to me,

Until they lock it in the grave,

      'Tis bliss I cannot weigh,

For though they lock thee in the grave,

      Myself can hold the key.

Think of it, lover! I and thee

      Permitted face to face to be;

After a life, a death we'll say,—

      For death was that, and this is thee.