 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE OLD MAN'S WOOING.
Come sit upon my knee, Minie,
And, darling, do not frown,
You know my hair is thin and white,
And yours is thick and brown:
So sit upon my knee, Minie,
And lean your bright head low
Against my cheek, for see, Minie,
My hair is white as snow.
And, darling, do not frown,
You know my hair is thin and white,
And yours is thick and brown:
So sit upon my knee, Minie,
And lean your bright head low
Against my cheek, for see, Minie,
My hair is white as snow.
And sing me that old song, Minie,
About the summer dead,
Its pleasant tune has all the time
Been going through my head,
Since when you sang it first, Minie,
In tones so sweet and clear,
With but a little sky between
Ourselves and heaven, my dear.
About the summer dead,
Its pleasant tune has all the time
Been going through my head,
Since when you sang it first, Minie,
In tones so sweet and clear,
With but a little sky between
Ourselves and heaven, my dear.
My eyes are going blind, Minie,
My heart is sad with care,
And you are like a bright young rose,
That I must never wear.
If you were not so young, Minie,
And I were not so gray,
I'd ask if you would smile sometimes,
And make my darkness day.
My heart is sad with care,
And you are like a bright young rose,
That I must never wear.
If you were not so young, Minie,
And I were not so gray,
I'd ask if you would smile sometimes,
And make my darkness day.
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Oh, when I'm dead and gone, Minie,
You must not come to weep,
The lightest sigh you breathed for me
Would wake me out of sleep:
Would wake me out of death, Minie;
Ah, do not tremble so,
You know I cannot love, Minie,
My hair is white as snow.
You must not come to weep,
The lightest sigh you breathed for me
Would wake me out of sleep:
Would wake me out of death, Minie;
Ah, do not tremble so,
You know I cannot love, Minie,
My hair is white as snow.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |