A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Before this place, and turn away your eyes
Nor seek to know the look of that which dies
Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe
But, for a little, let your step be slow
And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise
With words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies
A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know

Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree
Though white of bloom as it had been before
And proudly waitful of fecundity
One little loveliness can be no more
And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head
Because a dream has joined the wistful dead!