A poem by Thomas Runciman

My love's unchanged - though time, alas!
Turns silver-gilt the golden mass
Of flowing hair, and pales, I wis,
The rose that deepened with that kiss -
The first - before our marriage was.

And though the fields of corn and grass,
So radiant then, as summers pass
Lose something of their look of bliss,
My love's unchanged.

Our tiny girl's a sturdy lass;
Our boy's shrill pipe descends to bass;
New friends appear, the old we miss;
My Love grows old ... in spite of this
My love's unchanged.

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