Love's aftermath! I think the time is now 
That we must gather in, alone, apart 
The saddest crop of all the crops that grow, 
Love's aftermath. 
Ah, sweet,--sweet yesterday, the tears that start 
Can not put back the dial; this is, I trow, 
Our harvesting! Thy kisses chill my heart, 
Our lips are cold; averted eyes avow 
The twilight of poor love: we can but part, 
Dumbly and sadly, reaping as we sow, 
Love's aftermath.