Christina Rossetti's line "Love hath a name of Death" serves as an appropriate epigraph to the following poem by A. E. Housman. The poem appears in Housman's A Shropshire Lad, which was published in 1896. Although Housman was certainly not a "Decadent" 1890s poet, the poem also shares common ground with Ernest Dowson's "Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat incohare longam" and Arthur Symons's "The Soul's Progress."
From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
Now -- for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart --
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.
A. E. Housman, Poem XXXII, A Shropshire Lad (1896).
The poem, like many of Housman's poems, may not be as simple as it first seems. On the one hand, it fits within the "narrative" of A Shropshire Lad (if, in fact, there is a "narrative," which is a matter of debate): it appears to present another episode of unrequited (or requited, but lost) love. In addition, it evokes the second of Housman's two great themes: the fleeting nature of life (i.e., "they are not long, the days of wine and roses," to use Dowson's line).
But stating the "themes" of the poem in such a fashion does not do justice to its power. There is much more afoot. In the first stanza, Housman creates an atmosphere of universality and of timelessness: "From far, from eve and morning/And yon twelve-winded sky,/The stuff of life to knit me/Blew hither: here am I." One realizes what a miracle it is (regardless of whether or not one holds any religious beliefs) that we exist here, at this moment, on Earth.
This leads directly to the sense of urgency that drives the poem: "Now -- for a breath I tarry/Nor yet disperse apart --/Take my hand quick and tell me,/What have you in your heart." ("Disperse apart" is a curious phrase, yet it is entirely apt.) The desire to establish some connection with another human being before proceeding again on one's "endless way" (into oblivion) seems to go well beyond romantic love, whether requited or unrequited.
But that is one view, and one view only. Better yet: please disregard everything I just said. The poem speaks for itself.