Three Phases of Love

                              I.
When our youth is in its morning flush, 
     And the dew is on the rose's bud,
Aul our full heart is a-glow with the gush 
     Of its newly hurried blood.
Sitting alone in the silent moon, 
     Or yet with a purer face than here
Shining timidly into our own,
     While the thrill'd heart blithely stirs
With ite new come guest, like a blooming bough
     Where a beautiful bird is just alit,
Whose jar makes only the sweetness flow
     More sweetly out of it,—
"Oh how blithe is Love" we say
     "Happy Love, go not away."

                              II.
When years are over us with their care, 
     And the opened rose is spread too full, 
Till the sun has stolen the dew hid there 
     In its center odorous-cool,
When pain and pallor have touched the loved, 
     And our hearts with other thrills are stirred,
As if the blossoming branch were moved
     By the spring of a rising bird, 
Shaking the perishing petals down
     In a scentless shower of summer snow,
Tenderly over the growing brown 
     Of our naked hopes we bow,
"Oh how sad is Love," we say
     "Blessed Love, sad angel, stay."

                              III.
When the day has died into cloudy gloom, 
     And the rose-shrub stands a leafless brier, 
When those we loved are beyond the tomb, 
     Whose lamp is our only fire;
Our hearts with their losses' mourned excess
     Leap upward, like a recovering branch,
More light for its very nakedness;
     And Death can no longer blanch
Those cheeks that the storms of Life have bleached,
     For now, from the earth as we sadly turn,
The hands of the loved to our own are reached,
     With all for which we yearn:
"O how good is Love!" we say, 
     Holy Love, lead us away!"