Your dear, dropped glove was like a gauntlet flung,
When you and I were young.
For something more than splendour stood; and ease was not the only good
About the woods in Ivywood when you and I were young.
“Lady, the stars are falling pale and small,
Lady, we will not live if life be all
Forgetting those good stars in heaven hung
When all the world was young,
For more than gold was in a ring, and love was not a little thing
Between the trees in Ivywood when all the world was young.”