If I only could write the color Of the lilacs' tossing plume, And make you feel in a sentence The spell of its rare perfume:-- If my pen could catch the glory Of the clouds and the sunset sky, And the peace of the summer twilight My poem would never die! SILVER THREADS AMONG THE GOLD Copyright, 1915, by Estate of Hamilton S. Gordon. I. Darling, I am growing old,-- Silver threads among the gold, Shine upon my brow today;-- Life is fading fast away; But, my darling, you will be Always young and fair to me, Yes! my darling, you will be-- Always young and fair to me. II. When your hair is silver-white,-- And your cheeks no longer bright With the roses of the May,-- I will kiss your lips, and say: Oh! my darling, mine alone, You have never older grown, Yes, my darling, mine alone,-- You have never older grown. III. Love can never-more grow old, Locks may lose their brown and gold; Cheeks may fade and hollow grow; But the hearts that love, will know Never, winter's frost and chill; Summer warmth is in them still, Never winter's frost and chill, Summer warmth is in them still. IV. Love is always young and fair,-- What to us is silver hair, Faded cheeks or steps grown slow, To the hearts that beat below? Since I kissed you, mine alone, You have never older grown, Since I kissed you, mine alone, You have never older grown. Chorus to last verse. Darling, we are growing old, Silver threads among the gold, Shine upon my brow today;-- Life is fading fast away. WHEN SILVER THREADS ARE GOLD AGAIN Words by Eben E. Rexford; music by H. P. Danks. Copyright, 1915, by Estate of Hamilton S. Gordon. You tell me we are growing old, And show the silver in your hair, Whence time has stolen all the gold, That made your youthful tresses fair; But years can never steal away The love that never can grow old. So what care we for tresses gray,-- Since love will always keep its gold. Oh, darling, I can read today, The question in your thoughtful eyes; You wonder if I long for May,-- Beneath the autumn's frosty skies. Oh, love of mine, be sure of this: For me no face could be so fair As this one that I stoop to kiss Beneath its crown of silver hair. Oh, darling, though your step grows slow, And time has furrowed well your brow, And all June's roses hide in snow, You never were so dear as now. Oh, truest, tend'rest heart of all, Lean on me when you weary grow, As days, like leaves of autumn, fall About the feet that falter so.