Of spray. Two new young lovers seek your shrine.
Those loves of old with years grow fainter, dimmer,
But ours is warm and living and divine,
And time has not yet breathed upon its lustre,
And I am hers and she is all of mine!
And here we kneel where once old loves would muster,
Shut in the lilies one new secret up,
And add her image to the beauty-cluster
Of those whose eyes lie mirrored in your cup.