 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
24
FLORALIE.
All the star-flowers on the hill
Nod their sweet heads wearily;
Through the sad September day,
To my lonely heart they say,
Floralie is far away.
Nod their sweet heads wearily;
Through the sad September day,
To my lonely heart they say,
Floralie is far away.
All the little birds that sang
In the copse so cheerily,
Fluttering from spray to spray,
Seem in mournful notes to say,
Floralie is far away—far away.
In the copse so cheerily,
Fluttering from spray to spray,
Seem in mournful notes to say,
Floralie is far away—far away.
All the morning-stars that look
Through the dawn so drearily,
Turning from the joyless day,
By their sadness seem to say,
Floralie is far away,—
Far away—far, far away.
Through the dawn so drearily,
Turning from the joyless day,
By their sadness seem to say,
Floralie is far away,—
Far away—far, far away.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |