 | Poems and Translations |  |
19
SOMETHING TO WEEP OVER.
'T is but a lock of golden hair,
Kept from the years of long ago,
Just to recall a face loved well,
Now 'neath the flowers sleeping low.
To press it once more to my heart of hearts;
To kiss it for her in her long, long sleep;
To curl it once more in its form of old;
To gaze at it fondly, to smile and weep.
Kept from the years of long ago,
Just to recall a face loved well,
Now 'neath the flowers sleeping low.
To press it once more to my heart of hearts;
To kiss it for her in her long, long sleep;
To curl it once more in its form of old;
To gaze at it fondly, to smile and weep.
Little have I, in these sad years,
E'en to recall those golden days:
Sometimes a strain of music sweet,
Sometimes a look like the old fond gaze.
So ask me not now why I kiss the lock,
Why hold the tress in my day-dreams and sleep;
'T is all I have left o'er which I can smile,
'T is all I have left o'er which I can weep.
E'en to recall those golden days:
Sometimes a strain of music sweet,
Sometimes a look like the old fond gaze.
So ask me not now why I kiss the lock,
Why hold the tress in my day-dreams and sleep;
'T is all I have left o'er which I can smile,
'T is all I have left o'er which I can weep.
New Brighton, August 20th, 1864.
| Poems and Translations | |