 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
266
NINA AND HER TREASURES.
Life, since you left me, love, has been but a trouble and pain,
I am always longing and praying to see your dear face again.
I am always longing and praying to see your dear face again.
Fate has been cruel and hard, and so many tears I have shed;
The heart is an empty nest for the rain, when love has fled.
The heart is an empty nest for the rain, when love has fled.
I am weary, so weary, of life, and the bitterest pang of all
Is to lie and think of the past, that nothing can ever recall;
Is to lie and think of the past, that nothing can ever recall;
To lie in the dark, and think and sob to myself alone,
Quietly, lest I should waken and grieve mamma with my moan.
Quietly, lest I should waken and grieve mamma with my moan.
Sometimes I stretch myself out, and think, as I lie on my bed,
Thus it will be with me, when I'm laid out stiff and dead.
Thus it will be with me, when I'm laid out stiff and dead.
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Stay not away, O Death! Come soon and give me my rest,
With the calm lids over my eyes and my arms crossed over my breast.
With the calm lids over my eyes and my arms crossed over my breast.
Then perhaps he will come, and, gazing upon me, say,
Nina was good, and our love was an hour of a summer's day.
Nina was good, and our love was an hour of a summer's day.
Ah, yes, a day that the clouds overcast, ere the morning was done,
And whose noon was a dreary rain, with never a glimpse of sun.
And whose noon was a dreary rain, with never a glimpse of sun.
If he should stoop and kiss my lips, oh, if I were dead,
I think I should start to life, and rise up in my bed.
I think I should start to life, and rise up in my bed.
But what is the use of thinking, with all this work to do?
Oh, yes, mamma, I hear you; I'll come in a moment to you.
Oh, yes, mamma, I hear you; I'll come in a moment to you.
What am I doing? Nothing. I'm putting some things away;
No,—not the trinkets of Gigi. (Madonna, forgive me, I pray!)
No,—not the trinkets of Gigi. (Madonna, forgive me, I pray!)
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Oh, no; you never will throw them into the river, I know.
Just wait till I find my needle, and then I'll come in and sew.
Just wait till I find my needle, and then I'll come in and sew.
Oh, this is the hardest of all,—to smile and to chatter lies,
While my heart is breaking and tears blind everything to my eyes.
While my heart is breaking and tears blind everything to my eyes.
When will there come an end, Madonna mia,—I say,
When will there come an end, and the whole world pass away?
When will there come an end, and the whole world pass away?
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |