Les morts vont vite! Ay, for a little space
We miss and mourn them fallen from their place;
  To take our portion in their rest are fain;
  But by-and-by, having wept, press on again,
Perchance to win their laurels in the race.

What man would find the old in the new love’s face?
Seek on the fresher lips the old kisses’ trace?
  For...