THE HOUSE IN THE WOOD

I build of fair and fleeting things

A little home for Love,

In thickets where the linnet sings;

My house is roofed above

With aspen leaves, that never cease

Their whispering, though winds have peace.

And when the Autumn comes, the roof

Is shed in golden showers;

So sing I this for thy behoof,

Love passes with the flowers:

Ruined our house with wind and rain

Till Spring shall build it up again.

But though old age may dim our fire,

This first close kiss will keep

Sacred for us our old desire;

And though the heavens weep,

Its fragile memory will be

All of our life for thee and me.