by John Ford (1586-1639)
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,
The extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies.
Now Love dies, implying
Love’s martyrs must be ever, ever dying.