17 December 2014

Love's first blush is fanciful,
And time shows it for a fool. 
Love's morning is a lost thing,
All the while it learns to sing. 
Love's noon is a thing so bright,
If forgets the thing called night. 
Love's evening is cool,
And past all regret. 
Love's day is all this and more:
A child of hope and wonder,
Knocking at my door. 

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