Sweet, it may be that I forget
    As time will interpose,
With further travails to be met
     Before life’s close;

And yet, although the grief may pang
     As poignancy but lends,
I hope the heartbreak which I sang
     In part nor mends.

Time heals the wounds, and soothes the aches,
     Yet I would keep alive
The sorrow, even as snowflakes
     In time arrive.

The beauty of the mountain is
     Replaced by beauty of
Snow on the mountain; only this
     Resembles love.

For, what we had, say has not died,
     But merely, underneath
Time’s blanket dormant lies, though wide
     Expanse since death--

That it may live again, believe
     Although the interval
Be an eternity to grieve
     As snow must fall.