Boy Love is dead:
His little wings are torn,
And broken is his bow.
And none hath wiped away the tears of woe,
The tears he lately shed,
Upon his cheek forlorn.

Boy Love is dead,
Tho' he was loth to die.
Lay him to sleep forgot,
Where laughter of new loves may grieve him not,
Nor their rejoicing tread
Awake him, passing by.