[Love] itself shall slumber on

Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote:

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

I wanted to use a love poem for the new thread title, but the only poets I like are sad all the time, so this is what you get. April is National Poetry Month, according to the Academy of American Poets, so maybe share some of your favorite love poems as well.

Oh or like talk about your love lives or whatever. That's technically what this thread is here for.