A Burial

To-day I had a burial of my dead.          There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall,     No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed -          I only turned a picture to the wall.     A picture that had hung within my room          For years and years; a relic of my youth.     It kept the rose of love in constant bloom          To see those eyes of earnestness and truth.     At hours wherein no other dared intrude,          I had drawn comfort from its smiling grace.     Silent companion of my solitude,          My soul held sweet communion with that face.     I lived again the dream so bright, so brief,          Though wakened as we all are by some Fate;     This picture gave me infinite relief,          And did not leave me wholly desolate.     To-day I saw an item, quite by chance,          That robbed me of my pitiful poor dole:     A marriage notice fell beneath my glance,          And I became a lonely widowed soul.     With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame,          I turned the picture to the blank wall's gloom.     My very heart had died in me of shame,          If I had left it smiling in my room.     Another woman's husband.    So, my friend,          My comfort, my sole relic of the past,     I bury thee, and, lonely, seek the end.          Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.