What is the whole world worth, Dear,
    Weighed against love and truth?
Sweet is the spring to the earth, Dear,
    Bright is the blossom of youth:

And the skies of summer are tender
    In fullness of life and strength,
And rich is the autumn splendor,
    But winter comes at length.

Tell me, what spell shall charm us
    When the golden days expire?
What is there left to warm us
    Save Love's most sacred fire?

While on the soul's high altar
    Its clear light burns secure,
Though the step of joy may falter,
    And the glad years are no more,

The frosts of age are naught, Dear!
    I clasp thy hand in mine
Fondly as when youth sought, Dear,
    To be thy Valentine.