 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
57
SONG.
Come not to me, my dearest love,
When hope is gay and wo is fled;
Sad is my bower and high above,
Deep trees their shroudlike branches spread.
But when that wo tenfold returns,
When in the dust those hopes shall be,
When with deep pain thy bosom burns,
Then thou, my love, must come to me.
When hope is gay and wo is fled;
Sad is my bower and high above,
Deep trees their shroudlike branches spread.
But when that wo tenfold returns,
When in the dust those hopes shall be,
When with deep pain thy bosom burns,
Then thou, my love, must come to me.
For thee, my desert bower I'll dress,
For thee will light my tearful eyes;
For thee will braid each raven tress
That now in wild disorder flies.
And grief, who sits within my cell
A constant visitor to me,
Shall greet thee, for she knows full well
How sadly sweet I'll sing to thee.
For thee will light my tearful eyes;
For thee will braid each raven tress
That now in wild disorder flies.
And grief, who sits within my cell
A constant visitor to me,
Shall greet thee, for she knows full well
How sadly sweet I'll sing to thee.
| Specimens of American poetry | |