A PICTURE.
A little maid, with sweet brown eyes,
Upraised to mine in sad surprise;
I held two tiny hands in mine,
I kissed the little maid farewell.
Her cheeks to deeper crimson flushed,
The sweet, shy glances downward fell;
From rosy lips came—ah! so low—
"I love you, do not go!"
I see it through the lapse of years—
This picture, ofttimes blurred with tears.
No tiny hands in mine are held,
No sweet brown eyes my pulses wake—
Only in memory a voice
E'er bids me stay for love's sweet sake.