gone, gone,—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through...
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My fairest child, I have no song to give you; Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; |
Written During Sickness, April, 1845 FAREWELL, life! my senses swim, |