A Gentleman's Epitaph On Himself And A Lady, Who Were Buried Together

I dwelt in the shade of a city,     She far by the sea,     With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;     But never with me.     Her form on the ballroom's smooth flooring     I never once met,     To guide her with accents adoring     Through Weippert's "First Set." {1}     I spent my life's seasons with pale ones     In Vanity Fair,     And she enjoyed hers among hale ones     In salt-smelling air.     Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,     Maybe they were blue,     Maybe as she aged they got duller;     That never I knew.     She may have had lips like the coral,     But I never kissed them,     Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,     Nor sought for, nor missed them.     Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,     Between us, nor thrill;     We'd never a husband-and-wife time,     For good or for ill.     Yet as one dust, through bleak days and vernal,     Lie I and lies she,     This never-known lady, eternal     Companion to me!