Dead Love

Pour no blood on ashes, brother, That is not the way; Better say nothing, Blood is no life-giver; It makes death look so gay.

Dead life, or dead love Need no blood at all. No trumpet's call can Bring back what you lived, and strove: The ashes know no thrall!

Why cry for a colored glass That for jewel you took; The magic--the dream-- All returning to dust and grass, Not a day love your soul forsook.

At last, you have known it, That is more than they do. Be not afraid, O friend, Alone, alas, alone! you have loved and lived it, Pour no blood on the ashes, for blood can not turn into dew.