Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem 
     
     Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, 
     
     The tripping of the wind’s swift feet 
     
    

    
     Along the by-ways of our dream, 
     
    

    
     And hark the whisper of the rose 
     
     Wilding that blows. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Oh, still you love those simple things, 
     
     And still you love them more with me; 
     
     The grave has won no victory; 
     
    

    
     It could not clasp your shining wings, ' 
     
    

    
     It could not keep you from my side, 
     
     Dear and my bride! 
     
    
   
   
    
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