Changeless

The Spring, a maiden beautiful and pure.
Wearies of earth, and leaves the happy lea;
The stormy winds grow weary of the sea;
The sailor lad grows weary of the shore;
Tunes that charmed once fail, sometime, to allure.
Weary we grow of grief, or too much glee;
We weary captive, and we weary free:
Suns set, moons rise, the stars do not endure.

Let this be as it is; — but this I know.
Though life, grown weary, parts at length from me;
Though joy remembered turns to deepest woe;
Yea, though as one our lives may never be, —
Through life, in death, where none may reap or sow.
My love, O sweet, shall weary not of thee.