 | Poems |  |
SONNET III.
Cousin, the phantom voice of other yearsSpake to me, as I sat by thee once more,
And saw thee what thou wast in days of yore,
Unfaded yet by life's thick-gushing tears—
While thy loved voice made music in my ears,
Such as it did ere boyhood's dream was o'er,
Or manhood yet had found its present store
Of household joys and sorrows, hopes and fears.
157
And sympathies begirt;—yet each, I trust,
Employ'd in tasks through which high Heaven prepares
For its own bliss the faithful and the just.
There may our spirits meet, as now our prayers,
When our dust, cousin, hath return'd to dust.
1837.
| Poems | |