08 AN END

By Christina Rossetti

Love，strong as Death，is dead．

Come，let us make his bed

Among the dying flowers：

A green turf at his head；

And a stone at his feet，

Whereon we may sit

In the quiet evening hours．

He was born in the Spring，

And died before the harvesting：

On the last warm summer day

He left us；he would not stay

For Autumn twilight cold and grey．

Sit we by his grave，and sing

He is gone away．

To few chords and sad and low

Sing we so：

Be our eyes fixed on the grass

Shadow-veiled as the years pass

While we think of all that was

In the long ago．