Ashes

Bury the ashes. The life, the gleam

Of love is gone: we have killed with kisses

The fragile soul of rapture: this is

Only the hollow husk of a dream,

The bitter waking, the end thereof.

Come, bury the ashes of love.

The music falters; the flame is spent;

The vision is gone, the splendour faded,

Leaving only a pitiful jaded

Half-desire, and a discontent.

The end of love is a weary kiss —

Surely hate were better than this!