 | Song in September |  |
181
THE LOSS
Ah, had'st thou either gone or stayed!
For often when I swiftly turn
I find thee in the olden chair;
Not mortal, and not half so fair
As when, in honest earth arrayed,
Thou wast the bosom of my care.
For often when I swiftly turn
I find thee in the olden chair;
Not mortal, and not half so fair
As when, in honest earth arrayed,
Thou wast the bosom of my care.
Ah, hadst thou either gone or stayed!
Less lovely as an angel, still
Thy loveliness so sharpens pain
That blood of grief renews its stain,
And suddenly my heart, afraid
Of being broken, breaks again.
Less lovely as an angel, still
Thy loveliness so sharpens pain
That blood of grief renews its stain,
And suddenly my heart, afraid
Of being broken, breaks again.
| Song in September | |