And the raven takes but a single wife for life,
A wild lady is yokemate to his flight,
Imperishable lady! in time his greying wife,
They are yoked as oxen in that day’s hard light
So late, late is she his soul’s greying bride,
For wedded was he to one in a gold epithalamium
And faithful spouse is he to that singular one
When stars like leaves autumnal sigh in time
And if he be widowed, then loneliest will he go
As any cynic bird, who views the viewless waste
And all that emptiness of night and death,
For he is then dour mourner of all moons deceased
And extra-terrestial raven then is he
Who sees from his vast crags no city of pearl
Where she may dwell, no dove of love to lead
Home, home to him, the raven’s transient girl
But the frost-wreathed heath he sees; and it is high funeral
He holds for the empty house of hair and straw
And dirge for fleshly populaces in the wind, and all,
And earth, and a gaping scarecrow vain now.
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