Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
 Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
 That thus with clean hands I can get me free.
 Shake hands for all time, make null all our vows,
 And when we meet at some time hence once more
 Be it not seen in yours or in my brows
 That we one jot of our old love have stored.
 Now at the last gasp of Love's most faint breath,
 When, as his pulse fails, High Thoughts sans speech lies,
 When Faith has knelt down by his bed of death,
 And now the Pure One shuts by hand his eyes --
   Now, if you would, when all think he is wracked,
   From death to life you may yet bring him back.

                                -- Mike Dray Town