John Hartford

The years creep slowly by, Lorena
The snow is on the grass again.
The sun's low down the sky, Lorena
The frost gleams where the flowers have been.
But the heart throbs on as warmly now
As when the summer days were nigh.
Oh, the sun can never dip so low
A-down affection's cloudless sky.

A hundred months has passed, Lorena
Since last I held that hand in mine.
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena
Though mine beats faster far than thine.
A hundred months, 'twas flowery May
When up the hilly slope we climbed.
To watch the dying of the day
And hear the distant church bells chime.

We loved each other then, Lorena.
Far more than we ever dared to tell.
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our loving's prospered well.
But then, 'tis part. The years are gone,
I'll not call up their shadowy forms.
I'll say to them, lost years, sleep on.
Sleep on, nor heed life's pelting storms.
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