I
Step by step, day by day, age has come and placed
his hands upon the bare forehead of our love, and
has looked upon it with his dimmer eyes.
And in the fair garden shrivelled by July, the
flowers, the groves and the living leaves have
let fall something of their fervid strength on
to the pale pond and the gentle paths. Here and
there, the sun, harsh and envious, marks a hard
shadow around his light.
And yet the hollyhocks still persist in their
growth towards their final splendour, and the
seasons weigh upon our life in vain; more than
ever, all the roots of our two hearts plunge
unsatiated into happiness, and clutch, and sink
deeper.
Oh! these hours of afternoon girt with roses that
twine around time, and rest against his benumbed
flanks with cheeks aflower and aflame!
And nothing, nothing is better than to feel thus,
still happy and serene, after how many years?
But if our destiny had been quite different, and
we had both been called upon to suffer--even
then!--oh! I should have been happy to live and
die, without complaining, in my stubborn love.