The Image Of Death

I carved an image coloured like the night,
Winged with huge wings, stern-browed and menacing,
With hair caught back, and diademed like a king.
The left hand held a sceptre, and the right
Grasped a sharp sword, the bitter marble lips
Were curled and proud ; the yellow topaz eyes
(Each eye a jewel) stared in fearful wise ;
The hard fierce limbs were bare, and from the hips
A scourge hung down. And on the pedestal
I wrote these words, "O all things that have breath
This is the image of the great god Death,
Pour ye the wine and bind the coronel!
Pipe unto him with pipes and flute with flutes,
Woo him with flowers and spices odorous,
Let singing boys with lips mellifluous
Make madrigals and lull his ear with lutes.
Anon bring sighs and tears of harsh distress,
And weeping wounds! so haply ye may move
A heart of stone, from breasts of hate suck love,
Or garner pity from the pitiless."