 | On two strings |  |
41
LOST LOVE.
My life is hedged by bitter thorns,
And full of endless sorrows;
Time sends my soul but hopeless morns,
And still more hopeless morrows.
Ah! might there come that warmer part,
With all its dear repeating—
The lovely speech of Laura's heart
Upon my bosom beating!
And full of endless sorrows;
Time sends my soul but hopeless morns,
And still more hopeless morrows.
Ah! might there come that warmer part,
With all its dear repeating—
The lovely speech of Laura's heart
Upon my bosom beating!
But she is in a star at rest,
And treads some golden county,
Where roses sweeten in her breast,
And thrushes pipe their bounty.
For me no more that warmer part,
With all its dear repeating—
The lovely language of her heart
Upon my bosom beating!
And treads some golden county,
Where roses sweeten in her breast,
And thrushes pipe their bounty.
46
With all its dear repeating—
The lovely language of her heart
Upon my bosom beating!
| On two strings | |