O’r love grows stronger each the time we love!
“Impossible!,” ye say, “grow more, oh no!”
It seem’d from first we love’d complete, my Dove—
From first upon the step we glimps’d at door.
The joy was glimps’d at first, for sure, the joy
Complete, down years ahead—yea, all, just say.
“Impossible!,” ye say, down years for more.
Yea, paradox it be, more strong the ray
Of love, foreseen from start—o’r blessing full
This paradox indeed not less, yet more.
All lovers true do see of two a duel.
No kill, yet kill me, Love, seen first at door.
Than yesterday ‘tis more, the morrow more,
‘Ere grow, sweet love! All lovers know this lore.