And now to-night we go the ways
We went in those sweet summer days.
Dear love, thy dark and earnest eyes
Look up as tender as of yore,
And, purer than the evening skies,
Thy cheeks have still the rose they wore;
I—I have changed, but thou art fair
And fresh as in life's morning air.
What little hands these were to chain
So many years a wayward heart;