 | Love's memorial |  |
38
AFTER PARTING.
I throw my wreath before her door,Cast ashes on my hair;
What has been will be never more
Albeit we found it fair:
Though now no more where poppies gleam
Shall we deem life divine,
Our love will glide, a ghostly dream,
Through vales of Proserpine.
| Love's memorial | |