An Autumn Love Cycle/Welt

For other versions of this work, see Welt (Johnson).
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Welt
Would I might mend the fabric of my youth
Which daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes,
Would I might compromise awhile with truth
Until love's moon, now waxing, wanes and dies.

For I would go a further while with you
And drain this Cup of Joy so passing fair,
Which meets my parching lips like cooling dew
'Ere time has brushed cold fingers through my hair.

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