 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
124
SYMPATHY.
The tears streamed from his swollen eyes,
His sunken cheeks were pale as death,
And as he wept, his fevered breath
Was broken into moans and sighs.
“O sorrowing, chastened one,” I cried,
“Tell me thy grief that I may fill
Thine ears with pity.” He replied,
“Alas, sweet sir, my wife is ill!”
His sunken cheeks were pale as death,
And as he wept, his fevered breath
Was broken into moans and sighs.
“O sorrowing, chastened one,” I cried,
“Tell me thy grief that I may fill
Thine ears with pity.” He replied,
“Alas, sweet sir, my wife is ill!”
Ah, then adown my bearded cheek
The burning tears began to roll,
And sympathy possessed my soul
To such extent I scarce could speak.
“Unhappy man,” at last I said,
“God shield you from the bitterest blow
That e'er can fall on mortal head,
The loss of her you worship so!
The burning tears began to roll,
And sympathy possessed my soul
To such extent I scarce could speak.
“Unhappy man,” at last I said,
“God shield you from the bitterest blow
That e'er can fall on mortal head,
The loss of her you worship so!
“For oh! the dearest thing in life,
Vouchsafed to man from Heav'n above,
For him to cherish, is the love
Of one whom love hath made his wife.”
“Nay,” cried the man, “The howl I raise
Is not because I'm such a lover,
But oh! because the doctor says,
My wife is likely to recover!”
Vouchsafed to man from Heav'n above,
For him to cherish, is the love
Of one whom love hath made his wife.”
“Nay,” cried the man, “The howl I raise
Is not because I'm such a lover,
But oh! because the doctor says,
My wife is likely to recover!”
March 11th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |