I read in our old journals of the days
When our first love was April sweet and new,
How fair it blossomed and deep rooted grew
Despite the adverse time, and our amaze
At moon and stars and beauty beyond praise
That burgeoned all about us: gold and blue
The heaven arched us in, and all we knew
Was gentleness. We walked on happy ways.

They said by now the path would be more steep,
The sunsets paler and less mild the air,
Rightly we heeded not: it was not true.
We will not tell the secret—let it keep,
I know not how I thought those days so fair
These being so much fairer, spent with you.