English poem
Sweet Love is Dead
by Alfred Austin (1835–1913)
Sweet Love is dead: Where shall we bury him? In a green bed, With no stone at his head, Nor tears nor prayers to worry him.
Do you think he will sleep, Dreamless and quiet? Yes, if we keep Silence, nor weep O'er the grave where the ground-worms riot.
By his tomb let us part. But hush! he is waking! He bath winged his dart, And this mock-cold heart With the woe of want is aching.
Feign we no more Sweet Love lies breathless; All we forswore Be as before! Death may die, but Love is deathless.