The Chilterns

Your hands, my dear, adorable,     Your lips of tenderness     Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,     Three years, or a bit less.     It wasn't a success.     Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,     Quit of my youth and you,     The Roman road to Wendover     By Tring and Lilley Hoo,     As a free man may do.     For youth goes over, the joys that fly,     The tears that follow fast;     And the dirtiest things we do must lie     Forgotten at the last;     Even Love goes past.     What's left behind I shall not find,     The splendour and the pain;     The splash of sun, the shouting wind,     And the brave sting of rain,     I may not meet again.     But the years, that take the best away,     Give something in the end;     And a better friend than love have they,     For none to mar or mend,     That have themselves to friend.     I shall desire and I shall find     The best of my desires;     The autumn road, the mellow wind     That soothes the darkening shires.     And laughter, and inn-fires.     White mist about the black hedgerows,     The slumbering Midland plain,     The silence where the clover grows,     And the dead leaves in the lane,     Certainly, these remain.     And I shall find some girl perhaps,     And a better one than you,     With eyes as wise, but kindlier,     And lips as soft, but true.     And I daresay she will do.