The writings of Robert C. Sands in prose and verse with a memoir of the author |
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The writings of Robert C. Sands | ||
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XX.
“Come ye who give powerTo the curse that is said,
And a charm that shall wither
To the drops that are shed,
On the cheek of the maiden,
Who never shall hear
The kind name of Mother
Saluting her ear;
But sad as the turtle
On the bare branch reclining,
She shall sit in the desert,
Consuming and pining;
With a grief that is silent,
Her beauty shall fade,
Like a flower nipt untimely,
On its stem that is dead.
The writings of Robert C. Sands | ||