 | Poems |  |
132
THE BIRTH-DAY.
This is thy birth-day! when we should be gay;
Shall we go out before the glowing noon,
And weave the lingering flowers of parting May
With the first rosebuds of voluptuous June?
Shall we congratulate the laughing earth
That once again the perfumed spring is come—
Her joyous child, who heralded thy birth,
And made one long glad summer of thy home?
Shall we go out before the glowing noon,
And weave the lingering flowers of parting May
With the first rosebuds of voluptuous June?
Shall we congratulate the laughing earth
That once again the perfumed spring is come—
Her joyous child, who heralded thy birth,
And made one long glad summer of thy home?
This is thy birth-day! thine, who wert so loved!
Who wert—my Gilderoy! what art thou now?
Have the slight cares and sorrows thou hast proved
Hallowed thy cheek, or darkened o'er thy brow?
Fond hearts are beating in thy quiet home;
Awake, thou sleeper! 'tis a day of joy,
Where all is gladness, surely thou wilt come—
Why art thou silent still, my Gilderoy?
Who wert—my Gilderoy! what art thou now?
Have the slight cares and sorrows thou hast proved
Hallowed thy cheek, or darkened o'er thy brow?
Fond hearts are beating in thy quiet home;
Awake, thou sleeper! 'tis a day of joy,
Where all is gladness, surely thou wilt come—
Why art thou silent still, my Gilderoy?
133
This is thy birth-day! thine, who wert so young,
So full of life, so graceful, and so gay;
Why is the bitter tear of anguish wrung
From eyes which were not wont to weep to-day?
Smile on us now, as in the days of yore,
When friends stood round to hail another year—
Alas! the lip we loved shall smile no more!
This is thy birth-day—but thou art not here!
So full of life, so graceful, and so gay;
Why is the bitter tear of anguish wrung
From eyes which were not wont to weep to-day?
Smile on us now, as in the days of yore,
When friends stood round to hail another year—
Alas! the lip we loved shall smile no more!
This is thy birth-day—but thou art not here!
| Poems | |