Why not have walked it hand in hand,
One-time lovers and all-time friends?
Love has a hundred gentle ends.
Ends—and beyonds—oh ghosts of flames
That never lived, that never died,
Bitter and lean, unsatisfied—
These are the fires shall warm you now,
Sit and dream at them, dream and sigh;
These are the dead that cannot die.
Fires are meant to leap and fade.