At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close at last at last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,
But...
|
Friend, whose smile has come to be Other souls may find their joy |
O lonesome sea-gull, floating far ’Twixt wintry sea and wintry sky, |
My dearling!—thus, in days long fled, Poor child! she played a losing game: |
You who dread the cares and labors One indulgent landlord leases |
This realm is sacred to the silent past; This room no housewife’s tidy hand disturbs; |
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, |
Two little feet, so small that both may nestle Dimpled, and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms, |
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, |
Once, on a golden afternoon, |