I have a rendezvous with death, at some disputed barricade, when spring comes back with rustling shade, and apple blossoms fill the air. I have a rendezvous with death, when spring brings back blue days and fair. Maybe he shall take my hand and lead me into his dark land, and close my eyes and quench my breath, it may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with death, on some scarred slope of battered hill, when spring comes round again this year, and the first metal flowers appear. That nose tore better to be deep, pillowed in silk, and sent it down, where love throbs out in blissful sleep. Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, where hushed awakenings are dear, but I've a rendezvous with death, at midnight, in some flaming town, when spring trips north again this year. And I, to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.