What, are you hurt, Sweet? So am I; Cut to the heart; Though I may neither moan nor cry, To ease the smart. Where was it, Love? Just here! So wide Upon your cheek! Oh happy pain that needs no pride, And may dare speak. Lay here your pretty head. One touch Will heal its worst, While I, whose wound bleeds overmuch, Go all unnursed. There, Sweet. Run back now to your play, Forget your woes. I too was sorely hurt this day,— But no one knows.
Children, do you ever, In walks by land or sea, Meet a little maiden Long time lost to me! She is gay and gladsome, Has a laughing face, And a heart as sunny; And her name is Grace. Naught she knows of sorrow, Naught of doubt or blight; Heaven is just above her— All her thoughts are...
What, are you hurt, Sweet? So am I; Cut to the heart; Though I may neither moan nor cry, To ease the smart. Where was it, Love? Just here! So wide Upon your cheek! Oh happy pain that needs no pride, And may dare speak. Lay here your pretty head. One touch Will heal its worst...
From far away, from far away, It journeyed swiftly night and day, It rested not. With cruel haste It crossed the ocean’s trackless waste. It swerved no moment in its flight Through mist and storm and deepest night. No mercy prompted it to stay, No pity moved it to delay. O’er seas that rose up...
