33 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.