Then drift like a boat down one of her streams
With our cargo of hopes and dreams.
So many have come and gone,
Have done the things which we two have done:
Have leaned in revery sweet and solemn,
Hands laced, on the sundial's column:
Have found their three months as brief
As the life of a blade of grass, a leaf—
As eternal, too, as the leafage is
Have found their three months of bliss.