My sister Death! I pray thee come to me

Of thy sweet charity,

And be my nurse but for a little while;

I will indeed lie still,

And not detain thee long, when once is spread,

Beneath the yew, my bed:

I will not ask for lillies or for roses;

But when the evening closes,

Just take from any brook a single knot

Of pale Forget-me-not,

And lay them in my hand, until I wake,

For his dear sake;

(For should he ever pass and by me stand,

He might understand ―)

Then heal the passion and the fever

With one cool kiss, for ever.

– Digby Mackworth Dolben 

Pale gilded lilies and roses in the labdanum shadow of a yew tree, a sprig of forget-me-not, the dwindling memory of a genteel cologne, and the honeyed breathlessness of a kiss.