Love’s Martyrs
by John Ford (1586-1639)

Oh, no more, no more! too late
      Sighs are spent; the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as Fate,
      Pure as are unwritten papers,
      Are burned out; no heat, no light
      Now remains; ’tis ever night.
Love is dead; let lovers’ eyes,
      Locked in endless dreams,
      The extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies.
      Now Love dies, implying
Love’s martyrs must be ever, ever dying.

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