 | Poems by George P. Morris |  |
TO MY ABSENT DAUGHTER.
Georgie, come home!—Life's tendrils cling about thee,
Where'er thou art, by wayward fancy led.
We miss thee, love!—Home is not home without thee—
The light and glory of the house have fled:
The autumn shiver of the linden-tree
Is like the pang that thrills my frame for thee!
Where'er thou art, by wayward fancy led.
We miss thee, love!—Home is not home without thee—
The light and glory of the house have fled:
The autumn shiver of the linden-tree
Is like the pang that thrills my frame for thee!
Georgie, come home!—To parents, brother, sister,
Thy place is vacant in this lonely hall,
Where shines the river through the “Jeannie Vista,”
While twilight shadows lengthen on the wall:
Our spirits falter at the close of day,
And weary night moves tardily away.
Thy place is vacant in this lonely hall,
Where shines the river through the “Jeannie Vista,”
While twilight shadows lengthen on the wall:
Our spirits falter at the close of day,
And weary night moves tardily away.
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Georgie, come home!—The winds and waves are singing
The mournful music of their parting song,
To soul and sense the sad foreboding bringing,
Some ill detains thee in the town so long:
Oh, that the morn may dissipate the fear,
And bring good tidings of my daughter dear!
The mournful music of their parting song,
To soul and sense the sad foreboding bringing,
Some ill detains thee in the town so long:
Oh, that the morn may dissipate the fear,
And bring good tidings of my daughter dear!
Georgie, come home!—The forest leaves are falling,
And dreary visions in thy absence come;
The fountain on the hill in vain is calling
Thee, my beloved one, to thy woodland home.
And I imagine every passing breeze
Whispers thy name among the moaning trees!
And dreary visions in thy absence come;
The fountain on the hill in vain is calling
Thee, my beloved one, to thy woodland home.
And I imagine every passing breeze
Whispers thy name among the moaning trees!
Georgie, come home!—Thy gentle look can banish
The gathering gloom round this once cheerful hearth;
In thy sweet presence all our care will vanish,
And sorrow soften into mellow mirth.
Return, my darling, never more to roam:
Heart of the Highlands!—Georgie, dear, come home!
The gathering gloom round this once cheerful hearth;
In thy sweet presence all our care will vanish,
And sorrow soften into mellow mirth.
Return, my darling, never more to roam:
Heart of the Highlands!—Georgie, dear, come home!
| Poems by George P. Morris | |