The
man had killed the thing he loved, And so he had to die. 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."