 | A lover's diary |  |
78
VIII.
MONA, SICK.
The sun is set but there falls no dew;
The year is old and the moon is new;
My fate is cruel, my heart is true,
And I sit in the silence and think of you,
My dearest, dear little heart.
The year is old and the moon is new;
My fate is cruel, my heart is true,
And I sit in the silence and think of you,
My dearest, dear little heart.
I sit in the silence and watch the skies,
As the tender red of the evening dies;
My fate is cruel, but faith defies
The dreary night that between us lies,
My dearest, dear little heart.
As the tender red of the evening dies;
My fate is cruel, but faith defies
The dreary night that between us lies,
My dearest, dear little heart.
All the dreaming is broken through;
Both what is done and undone I rue;
Nothing is steadfast and nothing true
But your love for me and my love for you,
My dearest, dear little heart.
Both what is done and undone I rue;
79
But your love for me and my love for you,
My dearest, dear little heart.
With the waves that ebb, with the waves that flow,
When the winds are loud, when the winds are low,
When the roses come, when the roses go,
One thought, one feeling, is all I know,
My dearest, dear little heart.
When the winds are loud, when the winds are low,
When the roses come, when the roses go,
One thought, one feeling, is all I know,
My dearest, dear little heart.
The time is weary, the year is old;
The light o' the lily burns close to the mould;
The grave is cruel, the grave is cold,
But the other side is the city of gold,
My dearest, dear little heart.
The light o' the lily burns close to the mould;
The grave is cruel, the grave is cold,
But the other side is the city of gold,
My dearest, dear little heart.
| A lover's diary | |