Amantium Irae

When this, our rose, is faded,     And these, our days, are done,     In lands profoundly shaded     From tempest and from sun:     Ah, once more come together,     Shall we forgive the past,     And safe from worldly weather     Possess our souls at last?     Or in our place of shadows     Shall still we stretch an hand     To green, remembered meadows,     Of that old pleasant land?     And vainly there foregathered,     Shall we regret the sun?     The rose of love, ungathered?     The bay, we have not won?     Ah, child! the world's dark marges     May lead to Nevermore,     The stately funeral barges     Sail for an unknown shore,     And love we vow to-morrow,     And pride we serve to-day:     What if they both should borrow     Sad hues of yesterday?     Our pride! Ah, should we miss it,     Or will it serve at last?     Our anger, if we kiss it,     Is like a sorrow past.     While roses deck the garden,     While yet the sun is high,     Doff sorry pride for pardon,     Or ever love go by.