Oh, love is ever, ever old,
As love is ever young,
Extending from man's heart to all
The stars in heaven flung;
A song that's ever singing, yet
A song that's never sung.
When gentle Summer Breezes blow,
When Wintry winds are keen,
The sparkling frost or blooming flowers
Present a glorious scene —
When you and I walk arm in arm,
And Eros strolls between.
Spring's youthful song and Summer's
Full chorus, loud and clear;
Sad Autumn's pensive whisper,
Or Winter's silence drear,
Are never ending anthems
To love's enchanted ear.
And tho' the rosy god be blind,
His love-born visions show
To all beneath his spell a world
Of colour, life, and glow,
Where every ebbing wave of thought
Brings but a fuller flow.