Classic Poem

“My darling,” sweetest name that ever fell,
Laden with tenderness from human lips,
No other can so stir the heart's deep well,
So send the warm blood to the finger-tips.

Love's deepest speech is short, its words are few;
When most there is to say, oft least is said.
A clasp, a silent look that thrills one through.
A kiss, “my darling”—thus two hearts are wed.

“My darling”—spoken oft with tender tears
Under the soft hush of a summer night,
Forgotten oft, alas! in after years
When beauty dims and rosy cheeks grow white.

But sometimes love grows brighter for its wear.
Like unmixed gold—gaining a deeper glow
For the slow friction of life's toil and care,
I know that God, who made us, meant it so.

“My darling”—when the locks are thin and gray,
And when life's sun hangs low—is well-nigh set,
And youth, with all its dreams, is far away,
Then blest are they who hear and say it yet.