Not that it matters, not that my heart's cry 
Is potent to deflect our common doom, 
Or bind to truce in this ambiguous room 
The planets of the atom as they ply; 
But only to record that you and I, 
Like thieves that scratch the jewels from a tomb, 
Have gathered delicate love in hardy bloom 
Close under Chaos, — I rise to testify.
This is my testament: that we are taken; 
Our colors are as clouds before the wind; 
Yet for a moment stood the foe forsaken, 
Eyeing Love's favor to our helmet pinned; 
Death is our master, — but his seat is shaken; 
He rides victorious, — but his ranks are thinned.