And these poor embers grey, but I am loath
To quench remembrance also: I shall put
His relics over that they did consume.
Ah, ’tis too bitter cold these cinders to relume!
Place me love’s ashes in a golden cup,
To mingle with my wine. Ah, do not fear
The old flame in my soul shall flicker up
At the harsh taste of what was once so dear.
I quaff no fire: there is no fire to meet
This bitterness of death and turn it into sweet.