33

DEAD LOVE

Pour no blood on ashes, brother,

That is not the way;

Better say nothing,

Blood is no life-giver;

It makes death look so gay.

Dead life, or dead love

Need no blood at all.

No trumpet's call can

Bring back what you lived, and strove:

The ashes know no thrall!

Why cry for a colored glass

That for jewel you took;

The magic—the dream—

All returning to dust and grass,

Not a day love your soul forsook.

At last, you have known it,

That is more than they do.

Be not afraid, O friend,

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