 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
245
It is Sad, very Sad.
1836.
[_]
[I had been at Liverpool. It was night and there was deep snow on the ground. While coming over Blackstone Edge, in a stage coach, I wrote these lines.]
It is sad, very sad, thus without thee to roam;
It is sad, very sad, when the heart is at home!
My dearest—yes, dearest! that word it shall be,
For it has a sweet meaning when spoken of thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! &c.
It is sad, very sad, when the heart is at home!
My dearest—yes, dearest! that word it shall be,
For it has a sweet meaning when spoken of thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! &c.
My dearest, I've been where the wild billows roll,
And I am where the scene should enrapture my soul;
But, unmoved by the beauties of land and of sea,
My souls finds them tasteless—ungazed on by thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! &c.
And I am where the scene should enrapture my soul;
But, unmoved by the beauties of land and of sea,
My souls finds them tasteless—ungazed on by thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! &c.
Are my girls and my boys all as rosy and gay,
Is my kind wife as well as when I came away?
Are ever the questions returning to me;
And soon be they answered by them and by thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! that word it shall be,
For it has a sweet meaning when spoken of thee!
Is my kind wife as well as when I came away?
Are ever the questions returning to me;
And soon be they answered by them and by thee!
My dearest—yes, dearest! that word it shall be,
For it has a sweet meaning when spoken of thee!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |