Love

    AH, sweet, there is but little time for love,
            Though day be heaped on day, and night on night,
            Climbing the skies beyond the topmost height
    Till God be reached where endless ages move.

    Yet but a little time is left to prove
            How Love goes forth and in his hand a light
            Burning a flame of beauty, pure and white,
    To lead us where, within some ancient grove,

    He holds his court, and thuribles do swing,
            Laden with incence, over odorous flowers
    That wait to deck the lovers he doth bring
            Out of the tyranny of days and hours,
    To live for ever with sweet murmuring
            Of birds and harps among the leafy bowers.