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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The End of Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">WHO shall forget till his last hour be come,-- <br>Until the useful service of the dust <br>Hath drawn the emptying cerements in and in;-- <br>Until the Earth hath eaten love and lust, <br>Mirth, Beauty, and their kin . . . <br>Who shall forget that hour <br>That night unstarred, that day ungarlanded; <br>Where fell the petals of that fadeless flower?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When every word was said <br>That long had bared frustrate and savage teeth, <br>Leashed in the perishable thong of days, <br>And whipped to words of praise! <br>When every ill, and each ingratitude, <br>Each joy misnamed, <br>Each deed misunderstood, <br>Was flogged into the daylight, halt, and maimed, <br>Out of its bier, to bear the day's disgust-- <br>Out of its decent bed <br>To beat Love's tortured head <br>Into the troubled and uncertain dust. <br>Who can forget the naked hour profane, <br>When Love fled from us, shrieking through the dark, <br>His torch blown backward by the hurricane <br>Licking his dreadful features with its tongue, <br>While his mouth spat a curse at every spark, <br>And a scourged menace flung?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Thou wert that dreadful thing! <br>O Beautiful, O Rare, O Breath of rose, <br>O Spirit as impalpable as Spring! <br>How have I held thee, then? Too long, too close? <br>For it was thou, was thou, who left me thus, <br>With each sweet thing, with all the lovely host <br>That turning stared at us, <br>And, shuddering, gave up their frailest ghost!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Oh! to remember! Oh! to hear the tune <br>That Love first sang to us, that happy day; <br>When over us was furled his radiant wing. <br>Oh! for that one May moment. Not to lose <br>Its greenest leaf, or miss its singlest spray <br>So that this hour by that forgotten day <br>Might be all buried by the buds of Spring <br>That soft winds beat,--not bruise,-- <br>To make a bridal bed for June <br>From the pale shroud of May. <br>O Love, O Love! There was not any need <br>For thee to die, for me to be bereft, <br>Our garden to be left <br>To nettle and to weed,-- <br>To whips of rain when the chid wind was wroth. <br>Surely by some word, some sigh, had saved us both? <br>Could everything be lost, <br>All torn and tossed <br>Between thy speech and mine? Could all our vows, <br>And all our lovely life be laid so low, <br>And God fall on His face within the house <br>At first marauder's blow? <br>Yea, it was so: <br>And all of pride and pleasure, peace and power, <br>All Life's rich fruit and flower, <br>Died, as least darnel dies, in that dread hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Muriel+Stuart">Muriel Stuart</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464736" data-title="The End of Love de Muriel Stuart" data-description="WHO shall forget till his last hour be come,-- 
Until the useful service of the dust 
Hath drawn the emptying cerements in and in;-- 
Until the Earth hath eaten love and lust, 
Mirth, Beauty, and their kin . . . 
Who shall forget that hour 
That n..."></div>
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