Youth and Art
I.
My love, my own,
I bring you flowers
To fill the bower—
But the bloom is gone,
Though the petals linger,
And the beauty clings
To your graceful finger!

II.
Oh, youth goes wild—
But you will not cease
To cherish wild flowers,
And when the light
Of my art grows dim,
I shall still remember
The joys and the fears,
The splendor so clear
In your amber tears!

• Robert Browning