  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! |
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