 | Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox |  |
LOVE'S BURIAL
Let us clear a little space,
And make Love a burial place.
And make Love a burial place.
He is dead, dear, as you see,
And he wearies you and me,
And he wearies you and me,
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Growing heavier, day by day,
Let us bury him, I say.
Let us bury him, I say.
Wings of dead white butterflies,
These shall shroud him, as he lies
These shall shroud him, as he lies
In his casket rich and rare,
Made of finest maidenhair.
Made of finest maidenhair.
With the pollen of the rose
Let us his white eyelids close.
Let us his white eyelids close.
Put the rose thorn in his hand,
Shorn of leaves—you understand.
Shorn of leaves—you understand.
Let some holy water fall
On his dead face, tears of gall—
On his dead face, tears of gall—
As we kneel by him and say,
“Dreams to dreams,” and turn away.
“Dreams to dreams,” and turn away.
Those gravediggers, Doubt, Distrust,
They will lower him to the dust.
They will lower him to the dust.
Let us part here with a kiss—
You go that way, I go this.
You go that way, I go this.
Since we buried Love to-day
We will walk a separate way.
We will walk a separate way.
| Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |