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Love, sometimes, is tempestuous as spring, which dies, yet merits praise
though its glory is fleeting.

Love! We thought it would always be as
Sweet
As our first sweet kisses, how wrong
We!
What a lesson in the shame of
Defeat,
Wherein I fault you and you blame
Me.
And yet, is love not ment to go
awry
By some dreadful and eternal
Design?
Ay, even great lovers did
Testify
To love's slow desent and final
Decline.
You and I plucked love's rose, now
turned to dust;
We sang love's song whose notes are
Silent now;
But we knew love's rapture from gust
To gust.
So shouldn't we give love a saintly
bow?
Should we not celebrate those wondrous
Years
When love kept us from pain and many
Tears?