I

To love thee brings me sadness, for I know
each time the time will never come again,—
that every moment brings the darker stain
of riper manhood. Liker as we grow,
Love stirs his wings, impatient to remain.

II

Each night of love from such a love doth part
thy forward-looking self. At each remove
from boyhood thou art further from my love,
though nearer to the knowledge of my heart.
Love joineth us the closer to dispart.

III

Then thou and I to younger arms shall flee;
but thou, I think, in girlish form wilt find
what I, who know thee throughly, flesh and mind,
and never knew another like to thee,
shall never compass, leaving thee behind.