Elizabeth Akers Allen

At Last

At last, when all the summer shine
   That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
   And hold them close-at last-at last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
   Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,-
   But you, dear heart, you love me now.

Though there are shadows on my brow
   And furrows on my cheek, in truth,-
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
   Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,-
Though fled is every girlish grace
   Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
   And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;
   They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
   This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
   May bring to burden heart or brow,-
Strong in the love that came so late,
   Our souls shall keep it always now!