With the Years

Indeed, I doubt not, dearest,
That as the years go by—
When all our world is darkened,
And flecked with grey our sky—
That life will then have left us
With a mind for greater things
Than the stressful storms of youthful love,
And the beat of youthful wings.

We will learn to laugh, I fancy,
At the things we weep at now—
A calm will rest upon us,
Smoothing both cheek and brow:
The scented gloom of evening
And the warmth which summer brings,
Will reach to our hearts, and fill them
With a love for peaceful things.

We will learn to love the grasses
That tremble hour on hour,
And the sun that shines through branches
After a summer shower:
We will learn the joy of meadows,
Of leafy lanes, and streams—
As we wander slow together
Down the long last lane of dreams.

—B.