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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
HER SINGING.
Afar I stand and listen
To hear my darling sing;
With every note that thrills her throat
Her eyes of violet glisten—
Pretty thing!
To hear my darling sing;
With every note that thrills her throat
Her eyes of violet glisten—
Pretty thing!
The breeze, with will capricious,
Blows fitful through the trees,
It drives away the ditty gay,
Whose notes were so delicious—
Wicked breeze!
Blows fitful through the trees,
568
Whose notes were so delicious—
Wicked breeze!
To still the maiden's singing,
It acts a fruitless part;
I hear no words; but, like a bird's,
The notes she makes are ringing
Through my heart!
It acts a fruitless part;
I hear no words; but, like a bird's,
The notes she makes are ringing
Through my heart!
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |