 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
291
Song.—Anonymous.
A pale weeping-willow stands yonder alone,
And mournfully waves in the Zephyr's light breath;
Beneath, in its shadows, is sculptured a stone,
That tells of the maiden who sleeps there in death.
And mournfully waves in the Zephyr's light breath;
Beneath, in its shadows, is sculptured a stone,
That tells of the maiden who sleeps there in death.
She came to the village,—a stranger unknown,—
Though fair as the first flower that opens in May;
The touches of health from her features had flown,
And she drooped like that flower in its time of decay.
Though fair as the first flower that opens in May;
The touches of health from her features had flown,
And she drooped like that flower in its time of decay.
She told not her story, she spoke not of sorrow,
But laid herself down, and, heart-broken, she sighed;
And, ere the hills blushed in the dawn of the morrow,
Uncomplaining and silent, the sweet stranger died.
But laid herself down, and, heart-broken, she sighed;
And, ere the hills blushed in the dawn of the morrow,
Uncomplaining and silent, the sweet stranger died.
Apart and alone, the sad villagers made
A cold, quiet tomb in the heart of the vale;
And many a stranger has wept in the shade
Of yon weeping-willow, to hear of the tale.
A cold, quiet tomb in the heart of the vale;
And many a stranger has wept in the shade
Of yon weeping-willow, to hear of the tale.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |