I know not how these men or those may take
Their first glad measure of love’s character,
Or whether one should let the summer make
Love’s festival, and one the falling year.
I only know that in my prime of days
When my young branches came to blossoming,
You were the sign that loosed my lips in praise,
You were the zeal that governed all my spring.
II
In prudent counsel many gathered near,
Forewarning us of deft and secret snares
That are love’s use. We heard them as we hear
The ticking of a clock upon the stairs.
The troops of reason, careful to persuade,
Blackened love’s name, but love was more than these,
For we had wills to venture unafraid
The trouble of unnavigable seas.
III
Their word was but a barren seed that lies
Undrawn of the sun’s health and undesired,
Because the habit of their hearts was wise,
Because the wisdom of their tongues was tired.
For in the smother of contentious pride,
And in the fear of each tumultuous mood,
Our love has kept serenely fortified
And unusurped one stedfast solitude.
IV
Dark words, and hasty humours of the blood
Have come to us and made no longer stay
Than footprints of a bird upon the mud
That in an hour the tide will take away.