 | Laurella and other poems |  |
117
SONG.
The hare has his home on the hill,
The lark his nest in the grass;
But I lie lonely and chill,
Mocked by the winds as they pass.
The lark his nest in the grass;
But I lie lonely and chill,
Mocked by the winds as they pass.
Where, ah, where!
Ah, where shall I find, shall I find my rest,
Or hide my face from the eyes of Care?
Where, but in thy dear breast!
Ah, where shall I find, shall I find my rest,
Or hide my face from the eyes of Care?
Where, but in thy dear breast!
| Laurella and other poems | |