Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease.

At ease, but cold as stone,
Though the Intellect spin on,
And the feat and practiced face may show
Nought of the life that is gone;

But smiles, as by habit taught, 
And sighs, as by custom led;
And the soul is safe from damnation,
Since it is dead.