Dead Loves.
LONG summer nights with moon that yearneth down
On endless passion, through uncounted years,
On flames of love more hot than all those tears
Of ardent pain it worketh aye can drown;
Long summer nights in vast Assyria’s town,
At white-walled Athens, in imperial Rome,
Or midst dim Northern forests, by the foam
Of seas unsailed ere Arthur won renown.
Moonlight and leafshade—nights full sweet and long:
“O Love, my love, how white thy breast! Thy kiss
Upon my mouth, how mad!”—“And thou, how strong
Thine arms! I fear thy passion!”—“Tell me, must
Not Time and Death bow down to love like this?...”
Now, even their graves are crumbled into dust.