Love we may the thing that is to be,
Love we must; but how forego this olden
Joy, this flower of childish love, that we
Held more dear than aught of Time is holden--
Time, whose laugh is like as Death's to see--
Time, who heeds not aught of all beholden,
Heard, or touched in passing--flower or tree,
Tares or grain of leaden days or golden--
More than wind has heed of ships at sea?