The poem
Strong as death, and cruel as the grave, Clothed with cloud and tempest's blackening breath, Known of death's dread self, whom none outbrave, Strong as death,
Love, brow-bound with anguish for a wreath, Fierce with pain, a tyrant-hearted slave, Burns above a world that groans beneath.
Hath not pity power on thee to save, Love? hath power no pity? Nought he saith, Answering: blind he walks as wind or wave, Strong as death.