BURNED OUT

Blow out the light: there is no oil to feed it:

That dim blue light unworthy of the name.

Better to sit with folded hands, I say,

And wait for night to pass, and bring the day,

Than to depend upon that flickering flame.

Take back your vow: there is no love to bind it:

Take back this little shining, golden thing.

Better to walk on bravely all alone,

Than strive to hold up, or retain our own,

By soulless pledge, or fetter of a ring.

When first the lamp was lit, too high you turned it;

The oil was wasted in a blinding blaze.

Your passion was too ardent in the start —

Set by the lamp: farewell. God gird the heart

Through darkened hours, and lone and loveless ways.