Since that it may not be, br The thing my soul desires, br And that Love's tenderer fires br Are doomed to loss and Time's sterility, br Ours be it this one day br Flowers at Love's feet to lay, br For Love is master still, or be we bond or free. br br We may not quite be blest. br Time's treasure is too great, br And ours too weak a fate, br And Joy burns low, a sun--flame in the West. br Night comes, the while we stand br Forlornly hand in hand, br And then the tears begin, the dreams that have no rest. br br Yet, since it may not be, br And Love can not be wise, br And in each other's eyes br We still must seek Time's lost felicity, br Ours be it this last day br Flowers on Love's grave to lay, br For Love is master still, or be we bond or free.