 | The music-lesson of Confucius, And Other Poems |  |
141
LONG AGO.
MANY a weary year
Since I waltzed, my love, with thee!
And neither of us knows
Where the other one may be;
Dying in iron sorrow,
Or sunk in the endless sea.
Since I waltzed, my love, with thee!
And neither of us knows
Where the other one may be;
Dying in iron sorrow,
Or sunk in the endless sea.
Many a quiet year
Since those wild old nights ran by—
Mornings in the forest,
Days on the mountains high,
Galleries of golden art:—
Enough, enough, thou beating heart—
I would not have thee die!
Since those wild old nights ran by—
Mornings in the forest,
Days on the mountains high,
Galleries of golden art:—
Enough, enough, thou beating heart—
I would not have thee die!
Galleries of golden art,
And music soft and low,
And friends in youth—oh, now in truth
Some faint relief I know.
And is she dead?—hurrah, my heart!
Here comes the hot tears' flow!
And music soft and low,
And friends in youth—oh, now in truth
Some faint relief I know.
And is she dead?—hurrah, my heart!
Here comes the hot tears' flow!
| The music-lesson of Confucius, And Other Poems | |