PASSER MORTUUS EST
Death devours all lovely
things:
Lesbia
with her sparrow
Shares the darkness,
-- presently
Every bed
is narrow.
Unremembered as old rain
Dries the
sheer libation;
And the little petulant
hand
Is an annotation.
After all, my erstwhile
dear,
My no longer
cherished,
Need we say it was not
love,
Just because
it perished?
(from Second April,
1921) |