Memories

Here where Love lies perishéd, Look not in upon the dead, Lest the shadowy curtains, shaken In my Heart’s dark chamber, waken Ghosts, beneath whose garb of sorrow Whilom gladness bows his head: When you come at morn, to-morrow, Look not in upon the dead, Here where Love lies perishéd.

Here where Love lies cold interred, Let no syllable be heard, Lest the hollow echoes, housing In my Soul’s deep tomb, arousing Wake a voice of woe, once laughter Claimed and clothed in joy’s own word: When you come at dusk, or after, Let no syllable be heard, Here where Love lies cold interred.