“Love's arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope,
And Hope kiss'd Love, and Love drew in her breath
In that close kiss and drank her whisper'd tales.
They said that Love would die when Hope was gone.
And Love mourn'd long, and sorrow'd after Hope;
At last she sought out Memory, and they trod
The same old paths where Love had walked with Hope,
And Memory fed the soul of Love with tears.”

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Lover's Tale (1879), line 815

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Alfred, Lord Tennyson 213

British poet laureate 1809–1892

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