Some find Love late, some find him soon,
Some with the rose in May,
Some with the nightingale in June,
And some when syies are gray;
Love comes to some with smiling eyes,
And comes with tears to some,
For some Love sings, for some Love sighs,
For some Love’s lips are dumb.

How will you come to me, Love?
Will you come to me, fair Love?
Will you come late or soon?
With sad or smiling skies above,
By light of sun or moon?
Will you be sad, will you be sweet,
Sing, sigh, Love or be dumb?
Will it be summer when we meet,
Or autumn ere you came?

--Pakenham Bratty