London Light, by Joshua K. Jackson

Her voice sometimes grows louder
And sings amidst my dreams;
A hint of her face powder
And I drown in memories.
How can I get rid of her frown
And how can I repay my debt?
For nothing that’s dead is alive now,
Yet all that’s alive is dead.
So that is to be my duty,
Until I grow weary and old:
To praise an immortal beauty,
Indifferent, stern, and cold.