THE CHILTERNS
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our hands, my dear, adorable,Your lips of tenderness--Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,Three years, or a bit less.It wasn't a success. Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,Quit of my youth and you,The Roman road to WendoverBy Tring and Lilley Hoo,As a free man may do. For youth goes over, the joys that fly,The tears that follow fast;And the dirtiest things we do must lieForgotten at the last;Even Love goes past. What's left behind I shall not find,The splendour and the pain;The splash of sun, the shouting wind,And the brave sting of rain,I may not meet again. But the years, that take the best away,Give something in the end;And a better friend than love have they,For none to mar or mend,That have themselves to friend. I shall desire and I shall findThe best of my desires;The autumn road, the mellow windThat soothes the darkening shires.And laughter, and inn-fires. White mist about the black hedgerows,The slumbering Midland plain,The silence where the clover grows,And the dead leaves in the lane,Certainly, these remain. And I shall find some girl perhaps,And a better one than you,With eyes as wise, but kindlier,And lips as soft, but true.And I daresay she will do.
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