Still Living

Even if you were still living,

Under some blatant skies,

Still laboring and still pursuing;

What your life denies.

All sadness would have seized;

My heart (still quivering),

Surprisingly would be pleased.

Even if you were still living,

Happiness had its own consent.

For, an eternity of slavering;

Shall find one, not in torment.

Born were the stars with glory

Of never-ending light

And pride as savory;

Vanished have they from sight.

What sight!

My senses have thence been dimming,

To such an elegy;

For none of this would be

If you were still living.

Hiding the scowl in my hide

Outshone by your luster (be increasing);

Now how I hate to confide

And believe that you are still living.