WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG
Reading edition
The red and russet of Autumn die, In the lap of winter their ashes lie, And the earth is wan and grey the sky. But the noon of a wondrous joy is mine, And my pulses thrill with the glowing wine That flows from the grape of Love’s deathless vine. What care have I that the brown stems bear Nor leaf nor bloom, and the mad winds tear The last poor tatters the forests wear? Is not the heart in mine own glad breast A garden of roses, a haven of rest, A bird that has builded a warm love-nest?