You who are given to me to time were given

Before through time I stretched my hand to catch

Yours in the flying race. Oh we were driven

By rivalry of him who has no match.

For that cold conqueror, unfeeling lover,

Who robs your deep heart’s treasuries as in play,

Trampling your tender harvests over and over,

Where no door is at ease can find his way.

His light embrace is subtle and keen as thought;

Yet, perfect careful lover, he has no care

For you at all, is naught and leaves you naught.

And we who love and love again can dare

To keep in his despite our summer still,

Which flowered, but shall not wither, at his will.