At Love's Grave

Now we stand above Love's grave,
Shall we weep, —
We who saw and would not save?
Let him sleep.

Shall we sing his requiem?
Ah, for what?
Better stand here, cold and dumb;
Vex him not.

He was young and strong and fair,
Myrtle-crowned;
Now no myrtle wreathes his hair,
Cypress bound.

Did we slay him? Nay, not we;
We but said,
"Doubts and bitter words must be."
He is dead!

Of those doubts and words he died.
Hush, keep still!
Late regrets would but deride.
One calm will.

Perfect peace, and perfect faith.
Had these been,
He had never chanced on death,
Never seen

Darkness of the under night
Where he lies,
No song on his lips, no light
In his eyes.

Leave him where he lies alone,
Void of care;
Only carve upon his stone, —
"Love was fair."