Old Spanish Song

I'm thinking of the wooing     That won my maiden heart     When he--he came pursuing     A love unused to art.     Into the drowsy river     The moon transported flung     Her soul that seemed to quiver     With the songs my lover sung.     And the stars in rapture twinkled     On the slumbrous world below--     You see that, old and wrinkled,     I'm not forgetful--no!     He still should be repeating     The vows he uttered then--     Alas! the years, though fleeting,     Are truer yet than men!     The summer moonlight glistens     In the favorite trysting spot     Where the river ever listens     For a song it heareth not.     And I, whose head is sprinkled     With time's benumbing snow,     I languish, old and wrinkled,     But not forgetful--no!     What though he elsewhere turneth     To beauty strangely bold?     Still in my bosom burneth     The tender fire of old;     And the words of love he told me     And the songs he sung me then     Come crowding to uphold me,     And I live my youth again!     For when love's feet have tinkled     On the pathway women go,     Though one be old and wrinkled,     She's not forgetful--no!