 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
233
THE GIFT
Friend, of my infinite dreams
Little enough endures;
Little howe'er it seems,
It is yours, all yours.
Little enough endures;
Little howe'er it seems,
It is yours, all yours.
Fame hath a fleeting breath,
Hopes may be frail or fond;
But Love shall be Love till death,
And perhaps beyond!
Hopes may be frail or fond;
But Love shall be Love till death,
And perhaps beyond!
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |