Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley | ||
310
Over our peaceful lake of love?
Did it not mirror as a glass
The tranquil glories from above?
O! by the hours of joy and stillness
Which our true wedded faith hath known,
Turn not away with such icy chillness,
Turn not away,—I am still thine own!
Or has some false new love proved stronger?
Hast thou a dearer face than mine?
Speak to me, speak! Are we one no longer?
Dost thou not love me? Am I not thine?”
Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley | ||