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At Last At last, when all the summer shine That warmed life's early hours is past, Your loving fingers seek for mine And hold them close---at last---at last! Not oft the robin comes to build Its nest upon the leafless bough By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,--- But you, dear heart, you love me now. Though there are shadows on my brow And furrows on my cheek, in truth,--- The marks where Time's remorseless plough Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,--- Though fled is every girlish grace Might win or hold a lover's vow, Despite my sad and faded face, And darkened heart, you love me now! I count no more my wasted tears; They left no echo of their fall; I mourn no more my lonesome years; This blessed hour atones for all. I fear not all that Time or Fate May bring to burden heart or brow,--- Strong in the love that came so late, Elizabeth Akers Allen |
| August 20, 2001 |
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