Love me. I don’t care what the passing years
To me may do.
If, but in spite of troubles and tears,
You prove but loyal and so true.

Love me-even though grief shall cover my eyes,
And tears will flood,
I shall not even complain, for then my skies
Shall still be blue.

Love me, and though in every way shall pile,
And leave me chill,
Thy passion’s touch shall make for me, meanwhile,
A sun-kissed hill.

And when the days have lengthened into months,
And into years,
Oh, spite of pains and grief and cares and fears,
You grow not cold.

Then hand and hand we shall pass up the hill,
I say not down;
That twain go up, of love, who’ve loved their fill,-
To gain love’s crown.

Love me, and let my life take up your own,
As sun the dew.
Come; sit, my princess, for in my heart a throne
Waits for you!