  I build of fair and fleeting things A little home for Love, In thickets where the linnet sings; My house is roofed above With aspen leaves, that never cease Their whispering, though winds have peace. And when the Autumn comes, the roof Is shed in golden showers; So sing I this for thy behoof, Love passes with the flowers: Ruined our house with wind and rain Till Spring shall build it up again. But though old age may dim our fire, This first close kiss will keep Sacred for us our old desire; And though the heavens weep, Its fragile memory will be All of our life for thee and me. |
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