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“Today we gather, hope of final peace,
For our dear friend whose life did touch all whom
Did speak, did dream, did wish for a release
From loneliness, gain comfort of the womb.

Yet murdered were you in night’s slightest hour,
And stabbed with thy own dagger in thy sleep—
By whom?—a man with broken heart so dour
For you did leave his life, no love to keep.

Each lonely day you caused and heedless why;
Chance of redemption, Love, I pray to thee:
Take not my weary own soul into thy
Own lonesome grave in darkness you took he.

Alas beneath the earth, last words for thee,
O, Love interred, how hardly we knew ye.”