A little while a little love 
The hour yet bears for thee and me 
Who have not drawn the veil to see 
If still our heaven be lit above. 
Thou merely, at the day's last sigh, 
Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone; 
And I have heard the night-wind cry 
And deemed its speech mine own. 

A little while a little love 
The scattering autumn hoards for us 
Whose bower is not yet ruinous 
Nor quite unleaved our songless grove. 
Only across the shaken boughs 
We hear the flood-tides seek the sea, 
And deep in both our hearts they rouse 
One wail for thee and me. 

A little while a little love 
May yet be ours who have not said 
The word it makes our eyes afraid 
To know that each is thinking of. 
Not yet the end: be our lips dumb 
In smiles a little season yet: 
I'll tell thee, when the end is come, 
How we may best forget.