 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
137
TRUE LOVE.
True love is like the ivy green,That ne'er forgetteth what hath been,
And so till life itself be gone,
Until the end it clingeth on,
What though the tree where it may cling
Shall hardly know another spring?
What though its boughs be dead and bare?
The twining ivy climbeth there
And clasps it with a firmer hold,
With stronger love than that of old,
And lends it grace it never had
When time was young and life was glad.
(Attributed to) W. H. Stapleton.
December 1st, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |