The rain outside was cold in Hadrian's soul !... (This is written in an old style, but can easily be transferred to to-days life).

The boy lay dead
On the low couch, on whose denuded whole,
To Hadrian's eyes, whose sorrow was a dread,
The shadowy light of Death's edipse was shed.

The boy lay dead, and the day seemed a night
Outside. The rain fell like a sick affright
Of Nature at her work in killing him.
Memory of what he was gave no delight,
Delight at what he was was dead and dim.

O hands that once had clasped Hadrian's warm hands
Whose cold now found them cold !
O hair bound erstwhile with the pressing bands !
O eyes half-diffidently bold !
O bare female male-body such
As a god's likeness to humanity !
O lips whose opening redness erst could touch
Lust's seat with a live art's variety !
O fingers skilled in things not to be told !
O tongue which, counter-tongued, made the blood bold !
O complete regency of lust throne d on
Raged consciousness's spilled suspension !
These things are things that now must be no more.
The rain is silent, and the Emperor (can be anyone)
Sinks by the couch. His grief is like a rage,
For the gods take away the life they give
And spoil the beauty they made live.
He weeps and knows that every future age
Is looking on him out of the to-be;
His love is on a universal stage;
A thousand unborn eyes weep with his misery.

Antinous is dead, is dead for ever,
Is dead for ever and all loves lament.
Venus herself, that was Adonis'lover,
Seeing him, that newly lived, now dead again,
Lends her old grief's renewal to be blent
With Hadrian's pain.

The rain falls, and he lies like one who hath
Forgotten all the gestures of his love
And lies awake waiting their hot return
But all his arts and toys are now with ???
This human ice no way of heat can move;
These ashes of a fire no name can burn.

This is to-day...
What do you think ?
No much different from the past !
The humans what are they made of ?

Think !...