These marble splendors, black anatomy,
Which injure worms upon their sepulchres,
The glacial symbols of death's victory,
He would assemble, by fear undeterred.
It was the other shadow, love's, he feared:
That common fortune and its common woes.
Resplendent metal did not blind him sheer,
Nor did sepulchral marble; 'twas the rose.
He, from the mirror's other side, alone
Succumbed then to his complex destiny
As the inventor of all nightmares known.
And so perhaps, from well beyond death's shroud,
Shall he keep building, still alone and proud,
These splendid, wicked wonders endlessly.