 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
47
NO MORE.
When life has sailed far down time's darkening stream,
And silvery threads amid brown tresses gleam,
'T is mournful to know the heart's summer-time o'er,
And that never a blossom will bloom in it more.
And silvery threads amid brown tresses gleam,
'T is mournful to know the heart's summer-time o'er,
And that never a blossom will bloom in it more.
But 't is sadder to know, at youth's bright morning hour,
Ere the sun-rays have kissed the fresh dew from the flower,
That love, hope and gladness are meaningless words,
And that life must henceforth be like June without birds!
Ere the sun-rays have kissed the fresh dew from the flower,
That love, hope and gladness are meaningless words,
And that life must henceforth be like June without birds!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |