Written by David P. Sobel,
of the Philo Dramatic Society.
"Oh, ruby lips of thine so sweet,
Oh, love, my dear, must I retreat
From the threshold of your gracious love-
Away from you, oh dearest dove?
No, never shall I venture thus,
Until proclaimed by you I must,
Then I that widening path will take
Where human souls will never wake.
Beware me, though, is all I say,
Before that step I'll take, nay, nay,
Your beauteous face to render sweet,
First revenge and then defeat."
Thus spoke a young and handsome boy
At the age of twenty And one;
he uttered these words in his slumber
At the rising of the sun.
His troubles they were many,
Although so young in years;
Of life he knew not any,
He was listless in his fears-
He started up as if in fright,
With a blank stare in his eyes:
"Who is it that just spoke to me-
Oh, dear, I don't know why.
Oh, mother dear, in heaven now.
Come to the help of me your son.
Who here thus stands in great distress.
And has but you-by all he's shun.
My life is ended, my love is gone-
I have no one, no love but strife
To live for in this wicked world-
This sorrow shall end my weary life."
Without a quiver on his lips
He stood grief-stricken by his bed;
His mind it wandered like the ships,
Knowing of great distress ahead.
A sigh was heard and all was still;
His soul the angels led;
Although so young, he had his fill-
With a shriek he faltered-dead.