Gravis Dulcis Immutabilis

Come, let me kiss your wistful face Where Sorrow curves her bow of pain, And live sweet days and bitter days With you, or wanting you again. I dread your perishable gold : Come near me now ; the years are few. Alas, when you and I are old I shall not want to look at you : And yet come in. I shall not dare To gaze upon your countenance, But I shall huddle in my chair, Turn to the fire my fireless glance, And listen, while that slow and grave Immutable sweet voice of yours Rises and falls, as falls a wave In summer on forsaken shores. terrible poem

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