 | Poems by Lydia H. Sigourney |  |
243
“WEEP NOT.”
“Weep not—he hath gone home that little one.”
Mullner.
Mullner.
Gone home! Gone home!—how many a prayer of love,
Breath'd out its ardour, to detain thee here,—
And Fancy's dream its spell of fondness wove
To make thee happy, as thou wert most dear.
Breath'd out its ardour, to detain thee here,—
And Fancy's dream its spell of fondness wove
To make thee happy, as thou wert most dear.
Tho' round thy lip the smile complacent play'd,
And joy enwrapp'd thee in her robe of light,—
Yet was it not the thought of home, that made
Thy brow so beautiful?—thine eye so bright?
And joy enwrapp'd thee in her robe of light,—
Yet was it not the thought of home, that made
Thy brow so beautiful?—thine eye so bright?
The thought of home! they deem'd it not, who knew
Thy dear delight, among the garden flowers,
Thy loving heart, to warm affection true,
And all the gladness of thine infant hours.
Thy dear delight, among the garden flowers,
Thy loving heart, to warm affection true,
And all the gladness of thine infant hours.
244
Weep not:—'mid thornless flowers that never fade,
In bowers of bliss where raptures never cloy
Thou hast thy home, thy changeless mansion made,
Our transient visitant, our angel boy.
In bowers of bliss where raptures never cloy
Thou hast thy home, thy changeless mansion made,
Our transient visitant, our angel boy.
| Poems by Lydia H. Sigourney | |