The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | ||
III. SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED BY A FEMALE LUNATIC TO A LADY.
Lady, thou weepest for the Maniac's woe,And thou art fair, and thou, like me, art young;
Oh! may thy bosom never, never know
The pangs with which my wretched heart is wrung.
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(Beneath yon yew my father rests his head:)
I had a lover once—and kind and true,
But mother, brother, lover, all are fled!
Yet, whence the tear which dims thy lovely eye?
Oh! gentle lady—not for me thus weep,
The green sod soon upon my breast will lie,
And soft and sound will be my peaceful sleep.
Go thou, and pluck the roses while they bloom—
My hopes lie buried in the silent tomb.
The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | ||