This living hand， now warm and capable

    Of earnest grasping， would， if it were cold

    And in the icy silence of the tomb，

    So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

    That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood

    So in my veins red life might stream again，

    And thou be conscience-calmed——see here it is

    I hold it towards you.