He who has entered by this sorrow's door
Is neither dead nor living any more.
Nothing can touch me now, except the cold
Of whitening years that slowly make youth old;
Hunger, that makes the body faint; one thought
That ends all memory; for the future, nought.
My future ended yesterday; I have
Only a past, on this side of the grave.
For I have lost you, and you fill the whole
Of life now lost; and I have lost my soul,
Because I have no part or lot in things
That were to be immortal: grave-mould clings
About my very thoughts; and love's dead too.
All that I know of love I learnt of you.