Classic Poem

That thou art dead is little; never a Death
Hath power upon the power of our live love;
Thy breathing verse hath ever thy life breath,
And scarce we heed what our heart's passion saith, —
That thou art dead, who livest in our love.

Yet what we can, we give thee; not alone
Voices of praise and all life hath of love;
Our sun shall strike along thy lips of stone,
That still will make not music's antiphon
As when thy life chaunted past Death to Love.