The astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age;
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries.
by Herman Melville
She dens in a garret
As void as a drum;
In lieu of plum-pudding —
She paints the plum!
No use in my grieving,
The shops I must suit:
Broken hearts are but potsherds —