Analysis of The Growth of Love XI

XI
   Belovèd, those who moan of love's brief day
   Shall find but little grace with me, I guess,
   Who know too well this passion's tenderness
   To deem that it shall lightly pass away,
   A moment's interlude in life's dull play;
   Though many loves have lingered to distress,
   So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne'ertheless,
   But deepen with us till both heads be grey.
   For perfect love is like a fair green plant,
  That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on,
  And gentle lovers shall not come to want,
  Though fancy with its first mad dream be gone;
  Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies,
  But sweeter still the green that never dies.