Stamp hard, be sure We leave no spark That may allure This placid dark. At last we learn That love is cruel; Fire will not burn Lacking fuel.
Here, take your heart, The whole of it; I want no part, No smallest bit. And this is mine? You took scant care; My heart could shine; No glaze was there.
Young lips hold wine The fair world over; New heads near mine Will dent the clover; We need not pine Now this is over.
Now love is dead We might be friends; ’Tis best instead To say all ends, And when we meet Pass quickly by; Oh, speed your feet, And so will I.
I know a man Thought a spark was dead That flamed and ran A brighter red, And burned the roof Above his head.
