  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. |
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