Still-heart

Dread are the death-pale kings
Who bend to the oar,
Dread is the voice that sings
On the starless shore,
Lamentations and woes:
Cold on the wave
Beautiful Still-heart goes
To the rock-hewn grave.
The limbs are bound, and the breasts
That I kissed are cold;
Beautiful Still-heart rests
With the queens of old.