Yew Branches

  • Sister Death Perfume Oil

    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 lilies 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 yet might understand—)

    Then heal the passion and the fever

     With one cool kiss, for ever.

    – Digby Mackworth Dolben

    A sorrowful white lily fougere shadowed by yew branches.

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