When Love dies, and the funeral plumes are set,
And mourners come to take you by the hand,
Regard them not; they do not understand
Who bid you bless your sorrow and forget.
When Love has died (if Love should die!) regret
Will bind you broken in the former land,
And warp your life with one supreme command
To tend the dead in love's dark oubliette.

For you have loved, and all your life is altered.
And you have lost, and appetite unfed
Will drive you seeking solace with the dead.
Be there your life; and know that, having faltered,
You seek among the living folk in vain.
For love is dead. You shall not meet again.