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- THE GODS
LET us leave them all, my dear!
Love, for you, is dead;
Dead and buried far from here,
With the shadows on his bier,
Earth upon his head.
Let us leave them all, my child!
Love, for me, has flown;
Flown and vanished in the wild,
Reconciled, unreconciled,
Turning to his own.
Let us leave them, oh my friend!
Shall not the deep night
With its large and liquid breath,
Like the flowing of calm death,
Heal our memory at the end
And make all things right?
Put the burning fierce unrest
From your brain and from your breast.
Let us kiss the earth and rest.
Ah! perchance if we lie still —
Very still and very quiet
With our pulses' ancient riot
Hushed and silenced by our will,
