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.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

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

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.

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

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

The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed; The short days pass unwelcomed one by one.