THE OLD POET.
Words by F. E. Weatlerly. Music by J. I. Molloy.
The poet sat within his room
And heard the pelting rain.
The wind without in deep'ning gloom
Was wailing like a ghost in pain.
"Oh, let me in, the night is wild,"
A pleading voice cried at the door;
There in the rain was a little child,
A bow and arrow in his hand he bore.
Ah! 'tis love, beware, beware.
Love is here and love is there;
Love that comes with snow or sun,
Has a dart for ev'ry one;
Bringing joy or bringing fears,
Love is near us all the years,
Sad or sweet it lingers yet,
And ah! we never can forget.
He took the child with tender care,
he kissed away its cold
And wiped the rain from his golden hair,
And sang a tender song of old.
The moon shone out, the storm was past,
The little child he flew away,
But left a dart in the old man's heart
Which shall be there, which shall be there for ay
Ah! 'tis love, beware, beware, etc.