Dirge For Brief Love Poem by Jan Struther

We have killed our little Love
That was but three days old;
He lies between us now like a small bird silenced,
Pitiful, still, and cold.
In honour's name we slew him,
Who had no place on earth,
Who out of jesting words and sunlit flowers
Sprang suddenly to birth.
Absolvèd now we stand;
Virtue is satisfied:
But who shall quit us of this darker sinning,
This base infanticide?
Here lies lost loveliness,
Treasure we dared not keep.
Let us, who gave him life, let us, who slew him,
Bury him deep, deep.
Yet stay-O, touch him not!
Watch by his side awhile,
Lest he, not dead, but in a deep trance lying,
Should wake again, and smile.