 | Graffiti d'Italia |  |
359
IN THE SHADOW.
And can it be that all is o'er—
That I shall never see you more?
Or is it but a dream of night,
That soon will pass with morning's light?
Oh! is the joy I used to own
So lost, beyond the power to save;
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
That I shall never see you more?
Or is it but a dream of night,
That soon will pass with morning's light?
Oh! is the joy I used to own
So lost, beyond the power to save;
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
Not young, perhaps, as others see,
Yet ever young you seemed to me;
The same sweet smile and tender art
Remained, that first beguiled my heart;
The same dear look and gentle tone
That ever its fresh welcome gave—
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
Yet ever young you seemed to me;
The same sweet smile and tender art
Remained, that first beguiled my heart;
360
That ever its fresh welcome gave—
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
Some silver lines were in your hair,
But yet I never saw them there:
The years went on to you and me
So gently and so evenly,
That scarce it seemed a week had flown
Since first to me your love you gave—
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
But yet I never saw them there:
The years went on to you and me
So gently and so evenly,
That scarce it seemed a week had flown
Since first to me your love you gave—
And can it be that you are gone,
And in the grave?
Something I miss at every turn—
Something for which I blankly yearn;
And still some question to decide
I turn as you were at my side—
I turn and think—ah! she alone
Will give the counsel that I crave!
And then I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave!
Something for which I blankly yearn;
And still some question to decide
I turn as you were at my side—
I turn and think—ah! she alone
Will give the counsel that I crave!
And then I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave!
361
Henceforth, I know, at close of day,
When I return the old, old way,
The voice that greeted me before,
Soon as my hand was on the door,
No more will greet me with the tone
Of gentle welcome once it gave—
For oh! I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave.
When I return the old, old way,
The voice that greeted me before,
Soon as my hand was on the door,
No more will greet me with the tone
Of gentle welcome once it gave—
For oh! I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave.
Others such grief as mine have borne,
And I, like them, shall live and mourn,—
It nought avails to grieve or sigh
For what has gone so utterly!
And yet, how can I help to moan
For what no love had power to save—
For oh! I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave.
And I, like them, shall live and mourn,—
It nought avails to grieve or sigh
For what has gone so utterly!
And yet, how can I help to moan
For what no love had power to save—
For oh! I feel that you are gone,
And in the grave.
Courage! the heavy hand of Fate
Has laid on me its cruel weight,
And all these coming years of care
And sorrow I alone must bear;
Yes! I must strive to bear alone,
Without the help that once you gave;
For you, my love, my joy, are gone,
And in the grave.
Has laid on me its cruel weight,
And all these coming years of care
And sorrow I alone must bear;
362
Without the help that once you gave;
For you, my love, my joy, are gone,
And in the grave.
| Graffiti d'Italia | |