Sweet Love is Dead

Alfred Austin

Alfred Austin portrait

1835 to 1913

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Where shall we bury him? 
In a green bed, 
With no stone at his head, 
And no 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 hath winged a dart, 
And the 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. 

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