Ah love, the sweet spring blossoms cling
To many a broken wind-tossed bough,
And young birds among branches sing
That mutely hung till now.
The little newborn things which lie
In dewy meadows, sleep and dream
Beside the brook that twinkles by
To some great lonely stream.
And children, now the day is told,
From many a warm and cosy nest,
Look up to see the young moon hold
The old moon to her breast.
Dear love, my pulses throb and start
Tonight with longings sweet and new,
And young hopes beat within a heart
Grown old in loving you.
