YEAR after year the cowslips fill the meadow,
Year after year the skylarks thrill the air,
Year after year, in sunshine or in shadow,
Rolls the world round, love, and finds us as we were.
Year after year, as sure as birds' returning,
Or field-flowers' blossoming above the wintry mould,
Year after year, in work, or mirth, or mourning,
Love we with love's own youth, that never can grow old.
Sweetheart and ladye-love, queen of boyish passion,
Strong hope of manhood, content of age began;
Loved in a hundred ways, each in a different fashion,
Yet loved supremely, solely, as we never love but one.
Dearest and bonniest! though blanched those curling tresses,
Though loose clings the wedding-ring to that thin hand of thine,--
Brightest of all eyes the eye that love expresses!
Sweetest of all lips the lips long since kissed mine!
So let the world go round with all its sighs and sinning,
Its mad shout o'er fancied bliss, its howl o'er pleasures past:
That which it calls love's end to us was love's beginning:--
I clasp my arms about thy neck and love thee to the last.
