"My sweet," you sang, and, "Sweet," I sang,
And sweet we sang together,
Glad to be young as the world was young,
Two colts too strong for a tether.
Shall ever a spring be like that spring,
Or apple blossoms as white;
Or ever clover smell like the clover
We lay upon that night?
Shall ever your hand lie in my hand,
Pulsing to it, I wonder;
Or have the gods, being jealous gods,
Envied us our thunder?
This poem is in the public domain.