 | Poems |  |
MARY! MARY!
The grass is long above thy breast;
The clay is o'er thy head;
I'm lying on thy early grave,
Yet cannot think thee dead:
I cannot think that from my love
Thou art for ever fled,
Mary! Mary!
The clay is o'er thy head;
I'm lying on thy early grave,
Yet cannot think thee dead:
I cannot think that from my love
Thou art for ever fled,
Mary! Mary!
229
Thou hear'st my sobs—the groans uncheck'd,
I utter for thy sake;
Alas! I dream a weary dream,
From which I cannot break—
A ghastly dream—a fearful dream;
And shall I never wake,
Mary! Mary!
I utter for thy sake;
Alas! I dream a weary dream,
From which I cannot break—
A ghastly dream—a fearful dream;
And shall I never wake,
Mary! Mary!
No more! to hear thy voice no more!
No more thy smile to see!
In groans I've said it o'er and o'er,
Yet cannot think 'twill be.
How can I think that thou art gone,
For ever gone from me,
Mary! Mary!
No more thy smile to see!
In groans I've said it o'er and o'er,
Yet cannot think 'twill be.
How can I think that thou art gone,
For ever gone from me,
Mary! Mary!
Through life to live without thy love!
To live, and live alone!
Till now that thou indeed art gone,
It was a thought unknown.
How could I dream of losing thee,
My own—my fond—my own—
Mary! Mary!
To live, and live alone!
Till now that thou indeed art gone,
It was a thought unknown.
How could I dream of losing thee,
My own—my fond—my own—
Mary! Mary!
Why art thou taken from my love!
O Heaven! what sin is mine,
That thus in the full flush of life
Thou should'st our lives untwine!
That thus, so early, ere her time,
Thou, Heaven, should'st make her thine?
Mary! Mary!
O Heaven! what sin is mine,
That thus in the full flush of life
Thou should'st our lives untwine!
That thus, so early, ere her time,
Thou, Heaven, should'st make her thine?
Mary! Mary!
My name was ever on thy lips
When life was ebbing fast;
The thought of me was with thee, love,
The dearest and the last,
O tell me, in the dark, cold grave,
From thee it hath not pass'd,
Mary! Mary!
When life was ebbing fast;
The thought of me was with thee, love,
The dearest and the last,
O tell me, in the dark, cold grave,
From thee it hath not pass'd,
Mary! Mary!
230
Was it for this I left thee, love,
For many a weary year,
In care to struggle on to wealth,
That but for thee was dear,
In joy at last to seek thee, love,
And find thee lying here,
Mary! Mary!
For many a weary year,
In care to struggle on to wealth,
That but for thee was dear,
In joy at last to seek thee, love,
And find thee lying here,
Mary! Mary!
Hear me, thou hope—thou only joy,
Thou one dream of my heart!
Death sunders only to rejoin;
Whate'er, where'er thou art,
Hear thou the voice of my despair,
Not long—not long we part,
Mary! Mary!
Thou one dream of my heart!
Death sunders only to rejoin;
Whate'er, where'er thou art,
Hear thou the voice of my despair,
Not long—not long we part,
Mary! Mary!
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