A Husband to His Loving Wife

I hadst hope that we two wouldest unite
Wherefore, I sent thee roses in the spring
In summer, I sang songs by firelight
And mused upon our love, whilst still doting.

Within the autumn, signs of ecstasy
Began to yield to wintry hermitage
And never waxing cold, thou gavest me
A warm requital! (Thine hand for marriage)

How oft thou wert demure and reticent,
Whom as a coy maiden, were no coquette!
At last mine eye is freed from the lament
Of woes from bygone days, and better yet

Thy bosom in the innocence of youth
Is kept as treasured as the gospel truth.