The winds may blow, the sleet may dash the pane

And all our lonely road be clothed in gray,

Yet what care we how dark may be the way,

Or whether e’er we see the sun again;

On shall we journey through the stinging rain,

Our glad hearts beating to a roundelay

Learned long ago in one great, joyous day,

When we first knew we had not lived in vain.

We two have lived, we drank the ruddy wine

And felt the wonder of its burning kiss—

Let come what may there is no earthly power

Can take away that rapture, yours and mine.

Others may weep, who would give all for this,

To find what we have found—the golden hour!