O, Tell Me, Loved One

O, tell me, love, do I still dream,

Or are these things just as they seem?

Bend down thine ear, O, love divine,

Thy cheek to mine, my heart to thine,

And whisper softly, dear, so none

But I should hear your sweetest tone.

And tell me loved one, do I dream,

Or if these things are what they seem.

It seems that I am old and worn,

And for a lost love daily mourn.

My hair is growing thin and gray

Which was as raven yesterday.

My step is slow and wrought with pain,

And I but totter on my cane.

But thou, O, love, thou art the same

As years ago, when wealth and fame

Was naught to us; we loved and dwelt

Each day for what each other felt.

The peach-like bloom still lingers there,

And soft and sunny is thy hair.

No line of care thou brow doth mark,

Nor has thy eye dimmed of its spark.

Come, love, and sit again with me

Under the fragrant hawthorn tree;

And tell, O, tell me, if I dream,

Or are things really what they seem.

Aug. 16, ‘91