THE FIRST GRIEF
"Oh! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;
The summer comes with flower and bee—
Where is my brother gone?
"The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight—
Oh! call my brother back.
"The flowers run wild—the flowers we sowed
Around our garden tree;
Our vine is drooping with its load—
Oh! call him back to me."
"He would not hear my voice, fair child!
He may not come to thee;
The face that once like spring-time smiled
On earth no more thou'lt see.
"A rose's brief, bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;
Go—thou must play alone, my boy—
Thy brother is in heaven!"
"And has he left the birds and flowers,
And must I call in vain;
And through the long, long summer hours,
"And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wanderings o'er?
Oh! while my brother with me played,
Would I had loved him more!"
Felicia Hemans