When Time has wearied of her futile game
And gives me leave again to see your face,
I'll wonder, can it ever be the same
As once it was, within that time of Grace.
And are you now grown old, and have you changed,
Or are the roses fresh upon your cheek ?
I wonder what surpise Time has arranged,
Such havoc it would seem the years can wreak.
And will you know me when we met again ?
And will my voice still thrill you as before,
And will we pleasure find, or merely pain -
Such as we both endured that time before.
Yet of such pain, then let me have my fill,
Come Time or Tide, for you I'm waiting still.


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