Dead Love

Oh never weep for love that’s dead
Since love is seldom true
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.

Then harbour no smile on your bonny face
To win the deepest sigh.
The fairest words on truest lips
Pass on and surely die,
And you will stand alone, my dear,
When wintry winds draw nigh.

Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,
For this God has not given.
If the merest dream of love were true
Then, sweet, we should be in heaven,
And this is only earth, my dear,
Where true love is not given.

by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

Other poems of SIDDAL (13)

Comments (1)

I just watched the last episode of the BBC TV series 'Desperate Romantics'. This poem was read aloud in the funeral scene and it made me cry. Beautiful poem and outlines the tragedy of her suicide scarily well. I love it.