A Leave-taking

Kneel not and leave me: mirth is in its grave.
True friend, sweet words were ours, sweet words decay.
Believe, the perfume once this violet gave
Lives—lives no more, though mute tears answer nay.
Break off delay!

Dead, Love is dead! Ay, cancelled all his due.
We say he mocks repose—we cannot tell—
Close up his eyes and crown his head with rue,
Say in his ear, sweet Love, farewell! farewell!
A last low knell.

Forbear to move him. Peace, why should we stay?
Go back no more to listen for his tread.
Resume our old calm face of every day:
Not all our kneeling turns that sacred head
Long dear, long dead!

Go with no tear-drop; Love has died before:
Stay being foolish; being wise begone.
Let severed ways estrange thy weak heart more.
Go, unregretful, and refrain thy moan.
Depart alone.