A Sonnet on Love

The boulders sit in tumbled blocks of gray,

Caressed and clothed in gowns of green so pale;
The falls below are quiet. . . dry today;
A sweet, sweet silence fills the winding vale.

Belle chère, your love is here with me, so nigh,

I feel it always, warm as sun on stone
In late October. Golden Fall may sigh
Soft whispers, here, to one who sits alone.

As I have done so often, wrapped in love

So dear, and while the light plays fleetingly,
Its chiral melody, the wind above
Doth seem to sing sweet madrigals of thee.

Ah, love is brief, and softly sadsome, too. . .

So small a thing, my love, I give to you.