GRAVIS DULCIS IMMUTABILIS

Come, let me kiss your wistful face

Where Sorrow curves her bow of pain,

And live sweet days and bitter days

With you, or wanting you again.

I dread your perishable gold:

Come near me now; the years are few.

Alas, when you and I are old

I shall not want to look at you:

And yet come in. I shall not dare

To gaze upon your countenance,

But I shall huddle in my chair,

Turn to the fire my fireless glance,

And listen, while that slow and grave

Immutable sweet voice of yours

Rises and falls, as falls a wave

In summer on forgotten shores.