The lion's cub | ||
CARISSIMA.
Or ever you came weeping,Your lonely vigil keeping,
Where the dust of Love is sleeping,
Machree!
Like a wood-mouse softly creeping,
Where the pale moonshine is sweeping
The locks of the sea,
For you, dear, and me.
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Till the great Day above you
Has plunged into Night;
Till the sea is drained dry
By the sip of a fly,
Till the dead are alive, and the far is the nigh;
In the kingdom of light,
Let me die at your feet,
Nora, sweet!
The lion's cub | ||