 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
SONG.—THE FORSAKEN.
I sunned myself once in her smile—
She has turned its soft beam upon one
Who cares not a pin for her, while
He triumphs, and I am undone!
She has turned its soft beam upon one
Who cares not a pin for her, while
He triumphs, and I am undone!
I lived on the sweets of her lip—
I must seek for a supper elsewhere!—
Another that banquet may sip!
Another may play with her hair!
I must seek for a supper elsewhere!—
Another that banquet may sip!
Another may play with her hair!
149
And why is my rival so dear?
And why is she out when I call?
His income's a thousand a year!—
And mine, it is—nothing at all!
And why is she out when I call?
His income's a thousand a year!—
And mine, it is—nothing at all!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |