YOURS 1931 |
YOURS, TILL THE STARS HAVE NO GLORY.
YOURS, TILL THE BIRDS FAIL TO SING.
YOURS, TO THE END OF LIFE’S STORY,
THIS PLEDGE TO YOU, DEAR, I BRING.
YOURS, IN THE GRAY OF DECEMBER,
HERE OR ON FAR DISTANT SHORES.
I NEVER LOVED ANYONE
THE WAY I LOVE YOU.
HOW COULD I, WHEN WAS BORN TO BE,
JUST YOURS?
