For Louise

  Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
 By each let this be heard,
 Some do it with a bitter look,
 Some with a flattering word,
 The coward does it with a kiss,
 The brave man with a sword!
 Some kill their love when they are young,
 And some when they are old;
 Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
 Some with the hands of Gold:
 The kindest use a knife, because
 The dead so soon grow cold.
 Some love too little, some too long,
 Some sell, and others buy;
 Some do the deed with many tears,
 And some without a sigh:
 For each man kills the thing he loves,
 Yet each man does not die.