For till the thunder and trumpet be, Soul may divide from body, but not we One from another - Algernon Charles Swinburne

I wish we were dead together to-day,
Lost sight of, hidden away out of sight,
Clasped and clothed in the cloven clay,
Out of the world's way, out of the light,
Out of the ages of worldly weather, Forgotten of all men altogether,
As the world's first dead, taken wholly away,
Made one with death, filled full of the night.

Rhyme is the native condition of lyric verse in English; a rhymeless lyric is a maimed thing.

Stately, kindly, lordly friend
Condescend
Here to sit by me.