Dearest, the Winter is here!
“It will be sad,” so you said,
“When no green leaves overhead
Shadow the paths where we tread!”
I said “It still will be dear
If we still meet,
O my sweet!”
See how the seasons are kind!
See this December forget
How to be weary and wet!
Hardly our June I regret,
Winter so comely I find
Since you are here,
O my dear!
Sweetheart, I sometimes believe,
Love, not the sun, makes us glad;
Even the mists were not sad
If your soft hand-clasp I had.
Hearts sing, though skies mourn and grieve,
All weather's fair
If you're there!
Someday a home there shall be,
Love shall be sun of it, sweet!
Joy shall be full and complete —
Sound of small voices and feet;
While, like the sunshine, for me,
You light up life —
You — my wife!