Lo! in the valley, Love the galingale
Bends to the blast beside the river-shore,
And autumn pipes forever more and more,
While summer's slender voices faint and fail.
Lo! now the liveried leaf grows sere and pale--
A phantom of the glory gone before--
And in the woodland walks we knew of yore
Long since the songster ceased his tuneful tale.
Love, let us love; life's summer waneth soon;
Brief is the splendour of its fervent day:
For every blood-red rose of balmy June
Hath burst a tender bud of early May.
I unto thee would consecrate a boon;
O shall we love, or shall we still delay?