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118
THE OLD BIRDSNEST.
Take not, take not that old birdsnest
From off my door-yard tree,
Where memory broods, with fondling breast,
O'er hallowed thoughts to me!
When there the last spring-blossoms hung
Their promise on the bough,
Around that nest a robin sung,
That is departed now.
From off my door-yard tree,
Where memory broods, with fondling breast,
O'er hallowed thoughts to me!
When there the last spring-blossoms hung
Their promise on the bough,
Around that nest a robin sung,
That is departed now.
And other eyes with mine were here,
To watch her daily flight,
And see her build her home, last year;
But death has quenched their light.
The buds again will dress the stem,
The spring, glad song restore;
The heart that oft rejoiced in them
Will beat, alas! no more.
To watch her daily flight,
And see her build her home, last year;
But death has quenched their light.
The buds again will dress the stem,
The spring, glad song restore;
The heart that oft rejoiced in them
Will beat, alas! no more.
The spirit, with a viewless wing,
That soared from earth away,
'Mid flowers of Paradise to sing,
Forsook its home of clay.
Beneath the sod of springing green
The ruin 's hid from me;
But let the birdsnest still be seen
Within my door-yard tree!
That soared from earth away,
'Mid flowers of Paradise to sing,
Forsook its home of clay.
Beneath the sod of springing green
The ruin 's hid from me;
But let the birdsnest still be seen
Within my door-yard tree!
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