Time was you heard the music of a sigh,
And Love awoke; and with it Song was born,--
Song glad as young birds carol in the morn,
And tender as the blue and brooding sky,
When all the earth feels Spring's warm witchery,
And with fresh flowers her bosom doth adorn;
And lovers love, and cannot love forlorn,
Since Love is of the gods, and may not die.
In after years may come some wildering light,--
Some sweet delusion, followed for a space,--
Such fitful fire-flies flash athwart the night,
But fade before the shining of that face
Which shines upon you still in d**h's despite,
Whose steadfast beauty lights till d**h your days.