 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
LXV. THEY COME, THE LIGHT, THE WORLDLY COME.
They come, the light, the worldly come,
With looks and words untrue;
But unto them my soul is dumb—
Mon ami! où es tu?
With looks and words untrue;
But unto them my soul is dumb—
Mon ami! où es tu?
My lips, with false and careless smile,
Must coldly speak of you,
But wildly sighs my soul the while,
Mon ami! où es tu!
Must coldly speak of you,
But wildly sighs my soul the while,
Mon ami! où es tu!
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Where'er I rove, in hall or grove,
Thy absence still I rue;
Ah! what is life without thy love?
Mon ami! où es tu?
Thy absence still I rue;
Ah! what is life without thy love?
Mon ami! où es tu?
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |