Love's Murderer
SINCE Love is dead, stretched here between us, dead,
Let us be sorry for the quiet clay:
Hope and offence alike have passed away.
The glory long had left his vanquished head,
Poor shadowed glory of a distant day!
But can you give no pity in its stead?
I see your hard eyes have no tears to shed,
But has your heart no kindly word to say?
Were you his murderer, or was it I?
I do not care to ask, there is no need.
Since gone is gone, and dead is dead indeed,
What use to wrangle of the how and why?
I take all blame, I take it. Draw not nigh!
Ah, a touch him, lest Love's corpse should bleed!
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