When all seems lost, My Love, I turn to you
As flowers to the sun beseeching light,
And then restored I soar again to woo
The stars that grace the garment of the night.

When comes the time my love for you grows cold
And embers in my heart replace the flame
And I shall look and find that you are old
And hear unmoved the magic of your name;

When beauty on your brow no longer blooms
And age has stripped the luster from those eyes
That soothe my hurts, dispel my deepest glooms,
Forever hold my all-sufficient prize;

In Winter's realm shall Spring be then unknown,
And Sisyphus shall sit upon his stone.

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