Classic Poem

In days to come, when we are old and gray
Bent with the years and disciplined by Time,
Trembling and feeble we will scan this rhyme
Whose light for us has almost dimmed away,
And haply then remember, if we may,
Some sweet suggestion of our youth sublime,
Some keen reminder which like bruised thyme
Shall bring the memory of our Summer day.

There is no life but loving; naught but Youth
To make love perfect; when the rose-leaves fall
The perfume withers, while the birds are dumb.
And thus indeed I could in very truth
Pray that we both might early yield this thrall,
And so lose Winter in the days to come.