My soul of yore

Ask me, if I am not a strange,

Hold my hand to hand to heart,

Thy oath for oath must not change,

Though worlds and wandering stars depart.

Let not suspicion cloud thy sight,

Nor fickle winds unseal our trust;

For vows once forged in sacred light

Outlive the marble's fall to dust.

Should time, that tyrant crowned with years,

Lay silver frost upon our brow,

Yet love, unmarred by grief or fears,

Shall keep inviolate every vow.

Then ask not who I was before

Thy soul hath known my soul of yore.