Now that we have reached the end of glamour's sway,

And outlived all our Star-swept nights;

It's time to return to the toilworn way

Of a path that was once so bright.

Yet, all winters pass--and Spring, fresh blown,

The building of a gay and golden thrown

In our dream castle planned for two.

Why dwell on the future, or on things gone past?

Enough that your lips against mine are pressed

With sweet, stolen kisses--doomed to be our last

Till a kinder Fate shall soothe our heart's unrest.

(Ah! though your kisses are sweeter than honey to me--

It will be darn nice Kid; to know that I am free.)