SONG.
(For the Mirror.)
Thou hast not seen the tear-drops fill
The eyes which worship thee;
The deepest curse, the darkest ill,
Hovers above—around me—still
There are no tears for me!
Thou canst not know, why I should kneel
For tears to heaven—in vain;
The thousand changeless pangs we feel,—
The precious drops, perchance, might heal,—
They will not start again!
Thou canst not know what hopes will spring
When I can gaze on thee,
Even in the cold heart withering;
Oh! thou to whom that heart must cling,
Art more than tears to me!
THOMAS M—— S.