Are those her ribs through which the sun
  Did peer, as through a grate?
  And is that Woman all her crew?
  Is that a Death? and are there two?
  Is Death that Woman's mate?

  Her lips were red, her looks were free,
  Her locks were yellow as gold:
  Her skin was as white as leprosy,
  The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
  Who thicks man's blood with cold.

  The naked hulk alongside came,
  And the twain were casting dice
  "The game is done! I've won! I've won!"
  Quoth she, and whistles thrice.