I love you yet in your settings quaint,1
Faces of ladies, lovely and dead ;2
The flowers in your hands are faded and faint ;3
’Tis a hundred years since their bloom was shed.4
The wind of winter touching your cheek5
Has made your roses and lilies die ;6
But patches are never so far to seek7
On the mouldy quays where your portraits lie.8
The empire of beauty has passed away :9
The Pompadour and the Parabère10
Would find no lovers to rule to-day :11
They sleep in the tomb, and Love’s buried there.12
But you, sweet faces that men forget,13
You breathe at the flowers whose scent has fled,14
And sadly you smile, who are smiling yet,15
At the thought of your lovers so long time dead.16