Now that our love has drifted
To a quiet close,
Leaving the empty ache
That always follows when beauty goes;
Now that you and I,
Who stood tip-toe on earth
To touch our fingers to the sky,
Have turned away
To allow our little love to die —
Go, dear, seek again the magic touch.
But if you are wise,
As I shall be wise,
You will not again
Love over much.