Beloved, those who moan of love's brief day <br />Shall find but little grace with me, I guess, <br />Who know too well this passion's tenderness <br />To deem that it shall lightly pass away, <br />A moment's interlude in life's dull play; <br />Though many loves have lingered to distress, <br />So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne'ertheless, <br />But deepen with us till both heads be grey. <br /> <br />For perfect love is like a fair green plant, <br />That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on, <br />And gentle lovers shall not come to want, <br />Though fancy with its first mad dream be gone; <br />Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies, <br />But sweeter still the green that never dies.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perfect-love-18/
