Poem by Thomas Love Peacock

* * *

I dug, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin's grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.

I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.

Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere yet the evening sun was set:
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.

1. Instead of Sitting Wrapped up in Flannel
2. A Bill for the Better Promotion of Oppression on the Sabbath Day
3. The Round Table or, King Arthur's Feast
4. Duet
5. Lines on the Death of Julia

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