The English Renegade (N. regarding if D. dies from him, I think?)

Thou immortal hand -
jesting at her pallid cheek
at the death
of thy love,
whose rotting vessel
you still keep
For fear to
forget
her holy kiss
you do hold her
gorgeous corpse, beside
Although her body
does hiss and bloat
and her ocean eyes have met
their storm of greys -
Although her skin hath
festered, brown -
At least your love,
in her beauteous right
you still have
For your perfect
immortal hand.