New lips are ever telling
The tale that ne’er grows old;
Life’s greys are always changing
For some one into gold;
But amid the shine and shadow,
Amid the gloom and glow,
She walks with me, she talks with me—
My love of long ago.
When I think of all the changes
That the years to me have brought,
I am glad the world that holds her
Is the world that changes not.
And the same as when she left me,
She waits for me, I know—
My love on earth, my love in heaven,
My love of long ago.
IN SUMMER TIME
Daisies nod and blue-bells ring,
Streamlets laugh and song birds sing,
To the clover bees close cling.
Cornfields wave their locks of gold,
Poppies burn and wings unfold,
Earth-stars twinkle on the mould.
Butterflies—live blossoms, blown
From that Eden once our own—
Make of every flower a throne.
And a royal purple dyes
Yonder heather-hill, that lies
Fitting footstool for the skies.
And the gorse is all ablaze,
Lighting up the moorland ways,
And the days are golden days.
E’en the myriad-mooded sea
(Earth-bound, yet than earth more free)
Wears a look of constancy.
And your love, that in the spring
Was a shy, uncertain thing,
Like a bud just blossoming,