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
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem