  T The old, old story men would call our love; One cannot think of any time so old That some “I love you” was not gladly told To some one listening gladly; each remove Of the long lingering centuries does but prove Its deathlessness;—and we to-day who hold Each other dear as if young Love had sold To us alone his birthright from above,— Love’s secret ours alone,—turn back to seek In the rich types of Roman art or Greek Some fitting gift wherewith to fitly speak A love that each heart to the other drew;— An old, old story it may seem to you; |
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