An End
Love, strong as Death, is dead.Come, let us make his bedAmong the dying flowers:A green turf at his head;And a stone at his feet,Whereon we may sitIn the quiet evening hours.
He was born in the Spring, And died before the harvesting: On the last warm summer day 10 He left us; he would not stay For Autumn twilight cold and grey. Sit we by his grave, and sing He is gone away.
To few chords and sad and low Sing we so: Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow-veiled as the years pass While we think of all that was In the long ago. 20