Let Love's lukewarm body lie Drained of every lover's sigh; Put up the crepe, pull down the bunting, Pack in boxes the matrimonial trumpets. Rescind the secret thought, and cancel hope. Let marriage feasts go up in smoke; Let the lover, loved, display Independence to the end of days. Heaven's research into love's prayers Recommends ascetic despair; Despite longstanding and accustomed use, A gander's not as good as goose. When the mirror spots in morning's face No room for absolution or for grace, Every constellation seems Evidence of God's complicity. To exercise the lover's part Seems the only answer to retreating hearts: Mechanics of hydraulic hand Give no ease to loves lorn gland. Modern convenience should make us fit To enjoy the air-conditioning, and forget; Yet still in every neighbor's bush Lurks the same distempered wish. Every kiss but seems to mock Those lips no kissing will unlock; Snipers crouch on every roof To put an end to lovers' truth. Ransack every inked-out line For furtive hints of peace-of-mind, Time the healer will not dispense Relief when every breath is grief. To be a ghost and blow unmade Through drawn and yellowed windowshade.... What aught occurs, there is no stop To distraught hearts or lovers' hopes. What may mere continuance teach, Stalwart survival of the leech? Let pain cease, and let cease pride When love's soft cause has died inside. Intellectual despair Indulges 'The Unrepaired', While Hymanaeus Io wont console Particulate memory, the ripsawed soul.