The roses of our youth shall fade

And kokils cease to sing

Ere our happy serenade

This life's last winter bring;

And then I wonder, dear my love,

What love will flow between us,

And wheth’r the bow'rs of heaven above

Or shades beneath will hold us?

Perchance the jewel that we hold

As God's immortal dower,

Will vanish ere our tale be told

And our rose deflower,–

And our divinest fires slacken

As sun's rays fly the earth!

We will hide us in fern or bracken

All tearful for its dearth!

And yet I wonder, dear my love,

When one of us is dust,

Will that love too slide from its grove

And shun our innocent trust;

And ashen-grey and pearly-pale

In smouldering embers die,

And for the one that doth bewail,

In flashes give the lie?

Well; not of our own begetting

Was this love of ours;

It came on us when Spring was setting

Its mark on wind and flowers.

All the thousand stars did rise

Our love to consecrate,

And, He that made the starry skies

Will answer for our fate!