 | Dramatic chapters, poems and songs |  |
281
LONELY AGE.
The gate is swinging from the hasp,
The garden plat shrinks, less and less,
'Mid weed and seed, and things that clasp
All beauty in their hideousness;
The wildness seems to grow and grow,
However late or long I strive;
There's nothing blooms! It was not so
When Ellen was alive!
The garden plat shrinks, less and less,
'Mid weed and seed, and things that clasp
All beauty in their hideousness;
The wildness seems to grow and grow,
However late or long I strive;
There's nothing blooms! It was not so
When Ellen was alive!
The neighbours for a time were kind,
And rarely passed without a word;
But they who grieve have friends to find!
And sorrow tires when often heard!
So by another path they go
Across the brook, beyond the hive,
And few come near:—it was not so
When Ellen was alive!
And rarely passed without a word;
But they who grieve have friends to find!
And sorrow tires when often heard!
So by another path they go
Across the brook, beyond the hive,
And few come near:—it was not so
When Ellen was alive!
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