Ay! sooth
It is most sweet! Methinks that such a time
Were meeter far for lover's tryst than eve,
When the dark night must sadden o'er their vows,
And hide them from each other. Now, all things
Are pure and beautiful as love should be,
The dew of youth fresh on them, and though life
Should darken o'er with clouds as it roll on,
Still love would light them on, like the bright guide
Of Israel, to the promised land of rest.
'Tis beautiful, love plighted in the morn
Of life, when not a shadow dims its heaven--
Plighted for good or ill, as fate may rule,
Enduring alike true through sun and storm,
Save when the cold blast sweeps across the way,
It knits them only closer heart to heart.