Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! I have wandered world-wide from shore to shore, I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; But none can console me for Dorothy dead. Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; That the love which kept true, and the lips which so spoke, Are more lost than my heart, which died not when it broke!
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Eileen of four, Eileen of smiles; Eileen of five, Eileen of tears; Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, Eileen of youth And woman’s wiles; Eileen of twenty, In love’s land, Eileen all tender In her bliss, Untouched by sorrow’s treacherous kiss, And the sly weapon in life’s hand,— Eileen aroused to... |
Sorrow, my friend, When shall you come again? The wind is slow, and the bent willows send Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. The bird is dead That sang this morning through the summer rain! Sorrow, my friend, I owe my soul to you. And if my life with any glory end Of tenderness for... |
Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! I have wandered world-wide from shore to shore, I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; But none can console me for Dorothy dead. Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; That the love which kept... |
Despair dear, when you see my grave, Oh, shall you weep? Ah, no! That were to have Mistaken care; But when you see my grave, I pray you keep Sunshine of heart that time doth lay me there, Where veiling mists of dream guard endless sleep. Though the young life we mourn That, blooming, dies,— Ere... |
