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530 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core. |
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THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER
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HAD a chair at every hearth, When no one turned to see, With " Look at that old fellow there And who may he be ? " And therefore do I wander now, And the fret lies on me.
The roadside trees keep murmuring
Ah ! wherefore murmur ye, As in the old days long gone by,
Green oak and poplar-tree ? The well-known faces are all gone,
And the fret lies on me. |
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THE PITY OF LOVE
A
PITY beyond all telling Is hid in the heart of love; The folk who are buying and selling, The clouds on their journey above, The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove, Where mouse-gray waters are flowing, Threaten the head that I love. |
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