by Harriet Monroe
Good-by: nay, do not grieve that it is over—
The perfect hour;
That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
Flits from the flower.
Grieve not; it is the law. Love will be flying—
Yea, love and all.
Glad was the living; blessed be the dying!
Let the leaves fall.
—Poetry, December 1936
RIP Jared. RIP Alex. RIP Jeff.