The Year's End

What are my ways now that my Love is dead?As candles round a bier stand future days.Must I then read in annals of years fledWhat are my ways?On, the Time-reaping shining sickle sways;I watch in fog and rain with bended head;And for no flower swathe the cold blade stays.If memory were a solace, hearts that bledWere healed long since! . . . Now the quick tear betraysI may not with my past be comforted:What are my ways?