LOVELACE GROWN OLD

My life has been like a bee that roves

Through a scented garden close,

And‘ tis I who have kept the honey of love,

The hoarded sweetness and scent thereof,

For all I forget the rose.

Oh, exquisite gardens long forgot

That have made my store complete,

Though winter fall upon blossom and bee,

Yet the kisses I garnered remain with me

Forever and ever sweet.