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Archibald Lampman - Perfect Love
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Beloved, those who moan of love`s brief day
Shall find but little grace with me, I guess,
Who know too well this passion`s tenderness
To deem that it shall lightly pass away,
A moment`s interlude in life`s dull play;
Though many loves have lingered to distress,
So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne`ertheless,
But deepen with us till both heads be grey.

For perfect love is like a fair green plant,
That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on,
And gentle lovers shall not come to want,
Though fancy with its first mad dream be gone;
Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies,
But sweeter still the green that never dies.
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