Classic Poem

The moon was bright that Autumn night,
The skies around her blue;
Within this wood alone we stood,
And breathed a fond adieu.

The leaves that fell might seem to tell
How all things change and fade;
But time and tide our hearts defied —
We faced them undismay'd.

For, loving thus, oh! what to us
Was Fortune's fickle breath?
But, holding light life's utmost spite,
We never thought of death.

" The hours," said I, " will quickly fly —
A year will soon be o'er;
Then holy bands will join our hands,
And we shall part no more."

The moon is bright this April night,
The sky as blue as then;
The wood retrieves its fallen leaves:
We ne'er shall meet again.

" A year," I said, " and we shall wed."
Ere half that year is flown,
Spring flow'rets wave upon thy grave,
And I am here alone.

My hopes are cross'd, my treasure lost;
Joyless my life must be;
Yet — thus bereft — there still is left
The memory of thee.

Beneath these boughs that heard our vows —
Ah! now they hear but mine —
Again to-night my troth I plight
To be for ever thine.