"The Pleasures of Memory, a Poem", Samuel Rogers, 1792
.... On yon gray stone, that fronts the chancel-door, Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring, When the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring, Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. ....
(full poem)