WE have been lovers now, my dear,
It matters nothing to say how long,
But still at the coming round o’ th' year
I make for my pleasure a little song ;
And thus of my love I sing, my dear, —
So much the more by a year, by a year.
And still as I see the day depart,
And hear the bat at my window flit,
I sing the little song to my heart,
With just a change at the close of it;
And thus of my love I sing alway, —
So much the more by a day, by a day.
When in the morning I see the skies
Breaking into a gracious glow,
I say you are not my sweetheart’s eyes,
Your brightness cannot mislead me so ;
And I sing of my love in the rising light, —
So much the more by a night, by a night.
Both at the year’s sweet dawn and close,
When the moon is filling, or fading away,
Every day, as it comes and goes,
And every hour of every day,
My little song I repeat and repeat, —
So much the more by an hour, my sweet!