A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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TO MRS. LYDIA E. PINKHAM. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
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TO MRS. LYDIA E. PINKHAM.
There is a little bird that sings,
“Sweetheart!”
I know not what his name may be,
I only know his notes please me
As loud he sings, and this sings he,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
I know not what his name may be,
I only know his notes please me
As loud he sings, and this sings he,
“Sweetheart!”
I've heard him sing on soft spring days,
“Sweetheart!”
And when the sky was dark above,
And wintry winds had stripped the grove,
He still poured forth those words of love,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
And when the sky was dark above,
And wintry winds had stripped the grove,
He still poured forth those words of love,
“Sweetheart!”
And like the bird my heart, too, sings,
“Sweetheart!”
When heaven is dark or bright or blue,
When trees are bare or leaves are new,
It thus sings on and sings of you
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
When heaven is dark or bright or blue,
When trees are bare or leaves are new,
It thus sings on and sings of you
“Sweetheart!”
What need of other words than these,
“Sweetheart!”
If I should sing a whole year long,
My love would not be shown more strong
Than by this short and simple song,
“Sweetheart!”
“Sweetheart!”
If I should sing a whole year long,
My love would not be shown more strong
Than by this short and simple song,
“Sweetheart!”
November 2d, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |