The Lover To His Lass

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Title:     The Lover To His Lass
Author: Edith Nesbit [More Titles by Nesbit]

Dearest, the Winter is here!
"It will be sad," so you said,
"When no green leaves overhead
Shadow the paths where we tread!"
I said "It still will be dear
If we still meet,
O my sweet!"

See how the seasons are kind!
See this December forget
How to be weary and wet!
Hardly our June I regret,
Winter so comely I find
Since you are here,
O my dear!

Sweetheart, I sometimes believe,
Love, not the sun, makes us glad;
Even the mists were not sad
If your soft hand-clasp I had.
Hearts sing, though skies mourn and grieve,
All weather's fair
If you're there!

Someday a home there shall be,
Love shall be sun of it, sweet!
Joy shall be full and complete--
Sound of small voices and feet;
While, like the sunshine, for me,
You light up life--
You--my wife!

[The end]
Edith Nesbit's poem: The Lover To His Lass

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