<h2><SPAN name="poem85"></SPAN>LOVE’S BURIAL</h2>
<p class="poetry">Let us clear a little space,<br/>
And make Love a burial-place.</p>
<p class="poetry">He is dead, dear, as you see,<br/>
And he wearies you and me.</p>
<p class="poetry">Growing heavier, day by day,<br/>
Let us bury him, I say.</p>
<p class="poetry">Wings of dead white butterflies,<br/>
These shall shroud him, as he lies</p>
<p class="poetry">In his casket rich and rare,<br/>
Made of finest maiden-hair.</p>
<p class="poetry">With the pollen of the rose<br/>
Let us his white eyelids close.</p>
<p class="poetry">Put the rose thorn in his hand,<br/>
Shorn of leaves—you understand.</p>
<p class="poetry">Let some holy water fall<br/>
On his dead face, tears of gall—</p>
<p class="poetry">As we kneel to him and say,<br/>
“Dreams to dreams,” and turn away.</p>
<p class="poetry">Those gravediggers, Doubt, Distrust,<br/>
They will lower him to the dust.</p>
<p class="poetry">Let us part here with a kiss—<br/>
You go that way, I go this.</p>
<p class="poetry">Since we buried Love to-day<br/>
We will walk a separate way.</p>
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