THE DYING WIFE.
BY PHILA EARLE.
You'll think of me sometimes, beloved,
When I am gone from sight?
When you can see me nevermore,
You'll not forget me quite?
You'll miss sometimes, at twilight hour
My low and loving tone;
Your heart will sometimes feel a pang,
When beating all alone.
You'll think of days forever gone,
And grief may wring a tear
From eyes that have but seldom wept,
But I shall not be here;
You'll come and go; and yet the smile
That once your fond eyes met,
Will faded be—forever fled,
But oh, do not forget!
When cold and lifeless is the form
That's nestled on thy breast,
When chill and marble-like the lips
That once thine own have pressed,
Oh, sometimes think of me, and come
Unto the quiet spot
Where I shall slumber lone and still,
But oh not quite forgot!
You'll think of me when sitting 'side
My lone and vacant chair;
And sometimes, love, oh! gaze upon
This golden tress of hair!
And think that with its sister curls
It floated o'er the brow
That rests within the lowly grave,
So damp and pallid now.
But yet your grief will pass away
Like dusky shades of night;
The cypress wreath you'll change, beloved,
For one with flowers white;
You'll fondly love another one,
And call her thine—but yet
Your lost young bride—your first beloved,
Oh, do not quite forget!
And she, thy chosen one, may bring
A heart of love to thee,
But not more loving, true, than mine,
I know it cannot be.
But mine must throbless, pulseless be,
Its warm outgushings still.
But you will sometimes think of her,
Who rests so pale and chill.
Oh! sometimes fancy that my arms
Are fondly round thee twined,
And that my cheek, once warm and fair,
Is closely pressed to thine.
When I am gone, forever gone,
I'd be remembered yet,
Oh! think of me sometimes, beloved,
And never quite forget!