You ask me if I love you still, tho' you
And I were wed scarce one short happy year
Agone. How well do I remember, dear,
The day you put your hand in mine, and through
Life's good and ill, tho' skies were gray or blue,
We plighted faith that should not know a fear.
That was the day I kissed away the tear
That trembled on your cheek like morning dew.
Of course I love you--still. You're at your best,
Your perihelion, when you're silentest.
I'd love you as I did, dear heart, of yore,
And still a little more, nor ever tire:
Why, I would love you like a house afire
If you were only still a little more.