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.

Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Science comforting man's animal poverty and leisuring his toil, hath humanized manners and social temper, and now above her globe-spredd net of speeded intercourse hath outrun all magic, and disclosing the secrecy of the reticent air hath woven a web of invisible strands spiriting the dumb inane with the quick matter of life.