This vine will flourish still, as rare,
As fresh, as fragrant as of old.
Love will not crumble.
Kisses have worn your stones away,
Lov'd lips you did not pulse beneath;
Dropt tears have hastened your decay
And brought you one step nigher death;
And you have heard, unthrilled, unmoved,
The music of Love's golden breath
And seen the light in eyes that loved.