THE LAST ACT

Never a ring or a lock of hair

Or a letter stained with tears,

No crown for the princely hour to wear,

To be mocked of the rebel years.

Not a spoken vow, not a written page

And never a rose or a rhyme

To tell to the wintry ear of age

The tale of the summer time.

Never a tear or a farewell kiss

When the time is come to part;

For the kiss would burn and the tear would hiss

On the smouldering fire in my heart.

But let me creep to the kindly clay,

And nothing be left to tell

How I played in your play a year and a day,

And died when the curtain fell!