VIII. A Song of Courtship


To love is to own, to have and to hold,
So will you be owned by me?

To love is to grant, and then to supplant,
Your will be suborned under me.

To love is to break, but never forsake,
So will you be trothed to me?

To love is to know, carnally so,
So give all your body to me.

To love is to fly, to steal, and to lie,
Love, let me lie with thee.

My love is not free, but brings freedom to thee,
Beloved, be you loved by me.

"I will," the Lady said. "Jareth, I will. I shall, I am. I will be with you, forever."

They flew through the vast corridors of night in the shapes of owls, and they mated like owls on the wing.

"Give me a child," the Lady whispered, wrapping her arms around her neck. "If I am to be your wife, let me have your child. Let me have your son."

"Yes," he said carelessly. "If you wish. It's all one to me. But if you are to be my wife, you must also fulfill your promise to me. Let me speak to Sarah. I want her to know that death is coming, and I want her to know it's coming from me."

"Tomorrow night," she said. "A song of death. And then you will have your revenge, and I will have your heart, and all things will be as they are meant to be." He felt as though spiders were crawling over him where she touched him, and her face had become a corpse's, and those green eyes only glow-worms turning deep in rotten sockets.

"Death," the Lady said.