Definately

When the Lamp is shattered,
the light in the dust lies dead;
When the Cloud is scattered,
the rainbow's glory is shed;
When the lute is broken,
sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and Splendour,
Survive not the lamp or the lute;
The heart's echoes render,
No song when the spirit is mute;
No song, but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell;
Or the mournful surges,
That ring a dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
And the weak one is singled,
To endure what it once possessed.

O love who bewailest!
the cruelty of all things here;
Why choose you, the frailest,
for your cradle, your home and your bier.

Its passions will rock thee,
like the storm rocks the ravens on high;
bright reason will mock thee,
like the sun from a wintry sky.

And from thy nest,
every rafter will rot;
And thine eagle home,
will leave thee naked to laughter,
when the leaves fall and cold winds come.

-Percy Byssche Shelley