There are some things still in this life of ours
The years weed not away,
But reverse the fate of dying flowers,
And bloom but in decay.
So I look back through the many years
Whose suns have long since set,
And feel, like the coming up of tears,
The old love living yet.
O the heart will wither up, when youth
Withdraws its fleeting light,
And think no more with the same sweet truth
That fed it day and night;
But amid the wreck of all we see,
And the cares that come and fret,
It will keep a bud from the blighted tree
Of the old love living yet.
There gathers still, like a mighty thought,
Around that magic name,
All the beating of a heart that brought
Its strength to one sweet aim;
And the flush and warmth of those early dreams—
Ah, what heart could e'er forget!
Will waken up like the sun's first beams
At the old love living yet.
So I think, as a dying light is toss'd
From the gladness seen behind,
That whatever we in our youth have lost
But models the future mind;
And I weep as I think how my hopes may fall
Like the leaves when the winds are met,
And leave in my heart a scorn for all
Save the old love living yet.