Changeless

The Spring, a maiden beautiful and pure, 
Wearies of earth, and leaves the happy lea; 
The stormy winds grow weary of the sea; 
The sailor lad grows weary of the shore; 
Tunes that charmed once fail, sometime, to allure. 
Weary we grow of grief, or too much glee; 
We weary captive, and we weary free: 
Suns set, moons rise, the stars do not endure. 

Let this be as it is; — but this I know. 
Though life, grown weary, parts at length from me; 
Though joy remembered turns to deepest woe; 
Yea, though as one our lives may never be, — 
Through life, in death, where none may reap or sow, 
My love, O sweet, shall weary not of thee.