So sweet love seemed that April morn. When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change.

Nature hav no music; nor would ther be for theeany better melody in the April woods at dawnthan what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying awakeo’night in his comfortless attic, might perchancebe aware of, when the rats run amok in his thatch?

Were I a cloud I’d gather My skirts up in the air, And fly I well know whither, And rest I well know where.

Unto us all our days are love’s anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

Good melody is never out of fashion.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I’d see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

But I can tell – let truth be told – That love will change in growing old; Though day by day is nought to see, So delicate his motions be.

When Death to either shall come – I pray it be first to me.

I know that if odour were visible, as colour is, I'd see the summer garden in rainbow clouds.

When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.