But I can tell - let truth be told - That love will change in growing old; Though day by day is nought to see, So delicate his motions be.

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.

Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

O soul, be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss.