At Last

At last, when all the summer shine.

That warmed life's early hours is past,

Your loving fingers seek for mine.

And hold them close—at last—at last! Not oft the robin comes to build.

Its nest upon the leafless bough.

By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,— But you, dear heart, you love me now.

Though there are shadows on my brow .

And furrows on my cheek, in truth,— The marks where Time's remorseless plough.

Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,—Though fled is every girlish grace .

Might win or hold a lover's vow,

Despite my sad and faded face,

And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;

They left no echo of their fall;

I mourn no more my lonesome years;

This blessed hour atones for all.

I fear not all that Time or Fate,

May bring to burden heart or brow,—Strong in the love that came so late,

Our souls shall keep it always now!