Classic Poem

The months may come, the months may go,
The frosty winds come leaping,
And silent 'neath the driven snow
The hearts of flowers be sleeping.
There lives yet in each soothed vein
The dauntless will to blossom
When pink arbutus crowns again
The hills of earth's fair bosom.

So in my true love's gentle heart,
Though forces dire be waging
To draw me from that breast apart,
Her constant watch engaging,
I know that where Love plants his seed
'Twill grow to sweet fruition,
And buds of thought and flowers of deed
Fulfil their tender mission.

Oh, never yet a sun went down
But came again in splendor!
Oh, never yet Love tried to frown,
But cast a side glance tender!
While joyfully I sing my part
In our sweet song undying,
There blends the music of her heart,
With love to love replying.