PURE DEATH We looked, we loved, and therewith instantly Death became terrible to you and me. By love we disenthralled our natural terror From every comfortable philosopher Or tall, grey doctor of divinity: Death stood at last in his true rank and order. It happened soon, so wild of heart were we, Exchange of gifts grew to a malady: Their worth rose always higher on each side Till there seemed nothing but ungivable pride That yet remained ungiven, and this degree Called a conclusion not to be dnied. Then we at last bethought ourselves, made shift And simultaneously this final gift Gave: each with shaking hands unlocks The sinister, long, brass-bound coffin-box, Unwraps pure death, with such bewildernment As greeted our love's first accomplishment. Robert Graves