As the tears of the even,
Illumined at day
By the sweet light of heaven,
Seem gems on each spray;
So gladness to-morrow
Shall shine on thy brow,
The more bright for the sorrow
That darkens it now.
Yet if fortune, believe me,
Have evil in store,
Though each other deceive thee,
I'll love thee the more.
As ivy leaves cluster
More greenly and fair,
When winter winds bluster
Round trees that are bare.