Old love, old love, / How can I be true? / Shall I be faithless to myself / Or to you?
Oh who can tell the range of joy or set the bounds of beauty?
Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
Only by love is life made real.
Stephen kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me And never kissed at all. Stephen’s kiss was lost in jest, Robin’s lost in play, But the kiss in Colin’s eyes Haunts me night and day.