At Last Poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen

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!