I count the days, beloved; but not those
When you are absent, though my heart well knows
That they are bleak indeed. Rather I say
Unselfishly, as drifts each laggard day,
'Long, long ago, in Love's eternal Spring,
We sang together, and new hours can bring
No greater rapture.' I am ever glad
Of those lost hours of beauty that we had;
And if within my heart I always hold
The memory of their shining threads of gold,
I fear not when you tread far distant ways...
O Love, our wondrous past! I count the days!