Gentle steps, that, weak and slow,
Through the woodland pathways go.
‘It were sad in Spring to die,’
Said my darling wistfully.
Glorious Summer, crowned with flowers;
Dreamy days of golden hours;
Sunset-crimsoned hills afar;
Dewy eve, and silver star.
‘Strength may come with by-and-by,’
Said my darling patiently.