Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Les Cruels AmoureuxAnita Fitch
T
They had been dead a hundred years—
And in the langue of old Provence
They spoke of ancient tears.
(How sad her dreaming seemed to be!)
“When I had kissed your dead face once
Love’s sweet returned to me.”
(How dreary seemed his ghostly sighs!)
“Blessed the soul that love forgives,”
He whispered, “ere it dies.”
With must and mold in ancient way;
And so they’ll sleep and wake, ’tis told,
Until the Judgment Day.
Guard ye your loving while ye live!
Sin not against love’s sacred flame—
While yet ye may, forgive.