Sonnet Poem by Lady Anne Lindsay

Yea, Love is strong as life; he casts out fear,
And wrath, and hate, and all our envious foes;
He stands upon the threshold, quick to close
The gate of happiness ere should appear
Death's dreaded presence--ay, but Death draws near,
And large and gray the towering outline grows,
Whose face is veiled and hid; and yet Love knows
Full well, too well, alas! that Death is here.
Death tramples on the roses; Death comes in,
Though Love, with outstretched arms and wings outspread,
Would bar the way--poor Love, whose wings begin
To droop, half-torn as are the roses dead
Already at his feet--but Death must win,
And Love grows faint beneath that ponderous tread!