Dead Love

And will you now cry out upon dead Love,
Inform the lifeless clay with new, warm breath?
I tell you that Love sleeps the sleep of death.
Cry out, wring hands, and weep! You will not move
Those lips to any speech: yea, though you clove
With yours to his, enfolded him with faith,
He would not stir your word or kiss beneath;
His soul now dwells from pain and joy aloof.

What time Love lay a-dying you stood near.
With lips shut tight, and cold, confronting eyes;
Love's voice had then no music for your ear,
You had no pity, though one cried, " Love dies!"
And now, behold, as to another sphere
You call on Love, and lo! no voice replies.