Poems (Hardy)/Mors Amoris
MORS AMORIS
LOVE lay dead upon her funeral pyre, And men and angels mourned her where she lay; The sun's light fled, the stars all waned away,The lean white moon put out her silver fire.Said Grief, "'T was Pride that stabbed her. Deep and dire Shall be his hell." "Nay, now, your harsh words stay! I saw him dying by her door this day,"Wept Pity, while she wreathed a golden tireOf asphodel round Love's poor head. "To death I wounded her," wailed Truth. "Deep within the sea, I'll drown myself." "Yet none of these, O none,"—A whisper rose, as it were Love's last breath,— "Hath brought me low. Live thou, sweet Truth, for me: This deed of death Indifference hath done."