Classic Poem

How many summers, love,
— Have I been thine?
How many days, thou dove,
— Hast thou been mine?
Time, like the winged wind
— When it bends the flowers,
Hath left no mark behind,
— To count the hours.

Some weight of thought, though loth,
— On thee he leaves;
Some lines of care round both
— Perhaps he weaves;
Some fears, — a soft regret
— For joys scarce known;
Sweet looks we half forget; —
— All else is flown!

Ah! — With what thankless heart
— I mourn and sing!
Look, where our children start,
— Like sudden Spring!
With tongues all sweet and low,
— Like a pleasant rhyme,
They tell how much I owe
— To thee and Time!