My Sweet, my beloved redhaired Wonder,
Lady of the brightly burning hair;
The tyrant Time we all serve under
Has spread the grey of all his ashes there -
The dust of all the days we've shared
Has fallen through your fiery locks
And settled with the ticking of the clocks.
With each turning of the night to day
Our lives have known their joys and shocks
As silver strands have stolen sparks away.
But what of that, my Dearest Dear?
His Majesty has done as much to me, and more.
My love of you grows from year to year
Each embrace the better of the one before,
Which shall not cease as we approach the final Door.
The glow of you burns on in each thing my heart remembers;
Those sparks yet blaze alight beneath the embers
And I marvel every day that I may call you mine,
All through the suns of every June, the snows of all Decembers,
Through it all the silver ever rises to a nobler shine.