 | Songs of A Worker |  |
80
BETWEEN TWO POSTS.
Stay with me, relic of the rose
I gave her in love and June;
I knew she must send you back, I suppose,
Some Autumn day, but the day she chose
Seems many a day too soon.
I gave her in love and June;
I knew she must send you back, I suppose,
Some Autumn day, but the day she chose
Seems many a day too soon.
Silken-coffined you lay in her breast,
And felt her heart grow cold,
And so died slowly, at least soft-prest,
Not as my heart dies now; for the rest,
'Tis much the same when told.
And felt her heart grow cold,
And so died slowly, at least soft-prest,
Not as my heart dies now; for the rest,
'Tis much the same when told.
A word may come, there may yet be room
To hope and hold your troth;
Lie here at my heart and share its doom—
If life, you may yet come forth from your tomb,
If death, I have buried you both.
To hope and hold your troth;
Lie here at my heart and share its doom—
If life, you may yet come forth from your tomb,
If death, I have buried you both.
| Songs of A Worker | |