Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/81



INCE Love is dead, stretched here between us, dead, Let us be sorry for the quiet clay: Hope and offence alike have passed away. The glory long had left his vanquished head, Poor shadowed glory of a distant day! But can you give no pity in its stead? I see your hard eyes have no tears to shed, But has your heart no kindly word to say?

Were you his murderer, or was it I? I do not care to ask, there is no need. Since gone is gone, and dead is dead indeed, What use to wrangle of the how and why? I take all blame, I take it. Draw not nigh! Ah, a touch him, lest Love's corpse should bleed!