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Poem by John Ford

* * *

Oh, no more, no more, too late
Sighs are spent; the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as fate,
Pure as are unwritten papers,
Are burned out; no heat, no light
Now remains; tis ever night.

Love is dead; let lovers eyes,
Locked in endless dreams,
Th extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies.
Now Love dies---implying
Loves martyrs must be ever, ever dying.

John Ford

John Ford's other poems:
  1. Dawn
  2. A Bridal Song

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