And could with bliss have knelt beside
The only power that awed his pride.
“Nay, nay; not yet,” his Love replied;
“For vintage-time must life provide.”
So brightly, like a summer-sun,
Love cheer’d his way; but was not won.
“Come, Love, be mine,” the strong man urged;
“The mounts above in cloud are merged;
And, hand in hand with thee, my life
Will better brave the looming strife.”