“Love is a plant of holier birth
Than any that takes root on earth;
A flower from heaven, which ’tis a crime
To number with the things of time.
Hope in the bud is often blasted,
And beauty on the desert wasted!
And joy, a primrose, early gay,
Care’s lightest footfall treads away.
But love shall live, and live for ever,
And chance and change shall reach it never.”