Lady. If Love be dead—
Poet. And I aver it!
Lady. Tell me, Bard! where Love lies buried
Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born:
Oh, gentle dame! think it no scorn
If, in my fancy, I presume
To call thy bosom poor Love's Tomb.
And on that tomb to read the line:—
"Here lies a Love that once seem'd mine.
But took a chill, as I divine,
And died at length of a decline."

1833.