When Roses Wither

O gentle light, thou steal'st upon mine eyes, As dawn doth wash the ivied castle grey; Thy breath, a summer verse in low replies, Turns winter'd silence into budding May. If Fate command the stars to break and fly, I'd clasp thy name and bind it to my sigh. When moonlight drapes the moor in silver lace, I walk the corridor of memory's hall; Each footfall paints thy shadow's secret grace, And tapestries of longing hush and fall. No sceptred king could buy that quiet balm, Which dwells within thy hush, so soft, so calm. O fairest troth, whose voice the angels know, Attend these vows that tremble on my tongue; Through tempests, thin and fierce, and through the snow, My heart shall keep thee young when I am young. So let the roses wither where they please Thy love remain, my ever springing ease.