Writing your name in violets across the sod,
Shielding your holy face from hail and snow;
And, though the withered stay, the lovely go.
No transitory wrong or wrath of things
Shatters the faith—that each slow minute brings
That meadow nearer to us where your feet
Shall flutter near me like white butterflies—
That meadow where immortal lovers meet,
Gazing forever in immortal eyes.
Smart Set Richard Le Gallienne