The generous heart, for all its love,

Has never spent its last bright gold.

No open eye has burned to ash.

For love no sleeping hand lies cold.

The body, for all its length and grace,

With blood awake in will and pride,

Hard on the heels of the holy ghost,

Has never matched that glittering stride.

But a man who moved like a falling star,

Who ran abreast of the god, and died,

His love might break the heart in two -

A manner of death as yet untried.