Is It Done?

It is done in the fire's fitful flashes
The last line has withered and curled
In a tiny white heap of dead ashes
Lie buried the hopes of your world
There were mad foolish vows in each letter
It is well they have shriveled and burned
And the ring, the ring was a fetter
Was better removed and returned

But all is done in the embers
Where letters and tokens were cast
Have you burned up the heart that remembers
And treasures its beautiful past?

Do you think in this swift reckless fashion
To ruthlessly burn and destroy
The months that were frighted with passion
The dreams that were drunken with joy?

Have you burned up the heart that remembers
And treasures its beautiful past?
Do you think in this swift reckless fashion
To ruthlessly burn and destroy
The months that were frighted with passion
The dreams that were drunken with joy?

It is done in a tiny white heap of dead ashes