Could I borrow the laverock's lifting note, 
Or the silvery song from the blackbird's throat, 
Then would I warble the whole day long, 
Telling, in floods of passionate song, 
How worlds might tremble, or skies might fall. 
But Love, true Love, outlasteth all. 

Or, with picturesque words, in phrases neat, 
With ringing rhymes, and in sonnets sweet, 
Had I the skill of the schoolman's craft 
My song the murmurous breeze should waft, 
And tell to her whom my heart loves best, 
How Love outlasteth all the rest.