So it has all ended in ashes—
This beautiful love of ours,
This love like the breath of dawn
On a summer lea—
This love that lit our hearts
With wonder.

Why could it not have been otherwise?
As a star that falls thro' space,
Silvery-wingèd and swift,
So I would that our love had died
Exquisite in its flight
Through the dark.

But all this weeping and anguish
That sweeps thro' our aching hearts
Is useless as bitter flame;
And the holy fane of love—
The miracle of our joy—
Is but ashes and empty tears.