If all the joys you gave to me
Would vanish like a sun-warmed mist
And all the happiness be gone
Like lightness at a setting sun –
If memory of your glad, quick smile
My twin-locked heart could not recall,
Then would my treasure house be bare
And all my poignant hopes be stilled
Along the margin of that thread
Which marks the lonely path of life.
And would I mourn the vacant days
When life should be, but is not, full
And slowly pass the watching hours
From sleeping dreams to waking doubts.
Would life itself, its pledge renew
If I could not your love embrace
Nor reach that ever loving grace
The warm, sweet, tenderness of you.

September 1973