|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
I'm lonely now—my happy home is still;
No lightsome step, no childish tone is there! Ah ! 'tis enough my cup of woe to fill,
And I must drink the gall of deep despair.
TO A SISTER IN THE FAR WEST.
When mem'ry in my saddest hours
Turns to' the buried past, Keviving joys, like morning flowers,
Too fresh and pure to last; And when the smiles of other years
Around me seem to shine, A slight form with the rest appears,
One gentle brow is thine. ^
11 think of thee, my sister fair,
As thou wert wont to move Amid our little circle there,
With looks and words of love: 0 ! with the mem'ry of the dead,
Of those I ne'er may see, Of smiles and forms that long since fled,
There comes a thought of thee.
Since thou hast found another home Far in those western wilds,