Page:1914 & other poems (1915).djvu/50

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Your hands, my dear, adorable,
 Your lips of tenderness
—Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,
 Three years, or a bit less.
 It wasn't a success.

Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,
 Quit of my youth and you,
The Roman road to Wendover
 By Tring and Lilley Hoo,
 As a free man may do.

For youth goes over, the joys that fly,
 The tears that follow fast;
And the dirtiest things we do must lie
 Forgotten at the last;
 Even Love goes past.

What's left behind I shall not find,
 The splendour and the pain;
The splash of sun, the shouting wind,
 And the brave sting of rain,
 I may not meet again.

But the years, that take the best away,
 Give something in the end;
And a better friend than love have they,
 For none to mar or mend,
 That have themselves to friend.