Classic Poem

I thought Love dead,
And saw him borne away,
One April day,
Unto a quiet mound,
And lying by his side I wound
A garland of white roses fair
In his hair,
And lilies sweet
For peace, I placed about his feet,
An ivy chaplet for his head;
I thought Love dead.

I thought Love dead,
And sang his requiem in tears
For many years.
All knew my pain and said:
" Yea. Love is dead! "

I thought Love dead;
One night I sought his lonely bier,
There were strange wind-songs near,
And in the soft moonrise
I seemed to see the flicker of his eyes —
A gleam from shadowland...
And when I touched him with my hand
I heard him speak;
(O God, still warm his cheek!)
An ivy chaplet for his head —
I thought Love dead. . . .