 | Lyrics and Dramas |  |
80
MABEL
She slumbers by the moorland stream
That floods the brown stone fast;
Into that sleep no dream shall come,
No murmur of the past.
That floods the brown stone fast;
Into that sleep no dream shall come,
No murmur of the past.
Utterly cold she's grown to me,
She careth nevermore;
Though I be plunged in deepest sea,
Or cast on furthest shore.
She careth nevermore;
Though I be plunged in deepest sea,
Or cast on furthest shore.
So quick she was to note each tone,
At every mood to start;
Now death hath turned her into stone
And taken away her heart.
At every mood to start;
Now death hath turned her into stone
And taken away her heart.
| Lyrics and Dramas | |