What shall happen when the sparks die, love,
And our tears stand only for sweet memories?
What shall happen when the birds are silenced, love,
And no more ring the notes of nature’s sweetest song?
What shall happen when they cry for us, love,
And the living herald our end in forlorn throng?
What shall happen when the skies mourn us, love,
And the rains of remembrance have started to freeze?
Is this the end, or the beginning again?
A quaint adventure in a soft starlit land,
Refreshing and peaceful through meadow and fen,
So weep no more, love, and take my hand.