A cry in the silent night, A white face turned to the wall, A pang and then in the minds of men Forgotten—and this is all— For this are we labouring? Red lips that have pulsed and kissed, White arms that clasp and cling Grow cold and are not missed— The mourners mourn and depart— (Piece we the broken chain) The dead one lives awhile in our heart, Alas, and is dead again– For as flame that flickers and flies, Our memory comes and goes— Drowned in the light of human eyes, And a woe in the time of woes.
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