A Toad Of A Rondeau

For love grows cold when passion dies
and damps the fire in those eyes
which once had managed to beguile
in such an overwhelming style,
albeit overlaid with lies.

Perhaps it would have been more wise,
to forego wistful lover's sighs?
They last for such a little while,
for love grows cold.

And lovers who think otherwise,
as foolish thoughts start to arise,
may carry on full many a mile
to hide their doubts behind a smile.
But you and I learned how love flies,
for love grows cold.

With thanks to Paul Laurence Dunbar for 99% of the rhyme scheme, and to Grace at Imaginary Garden for getting my brain in gear this morning!