Classic Poem

When in the death of love,
The lovers part,
With saddened quiet in their eyes,
And brief low words,
They do not wonder at the autumn's dying,
Nor at the fall of leaves in the late wind,
Nor wooded hills in winter.

A sadness steeps the sky,
A greyness glistens in the air,
And the Earth's bosom is barren, bleak and brown …
When in the death of love
The lovers part.