STANZAS.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.
Oh, lovely were once her eyes, but grief
Their light hath now o'erclouded—
And her lips were sweet, like the budding leaf,
Though now their bloom be shrouded—
For in her heart, a malady
Like the canker-worm in the rose,
Preys ever there, unceasingly,
And gives her no repose.
It is sad to think, in a few short hours,
We shall look on her no longer,
For the glance gives sign of the failing powers,
And the pang grows hourly stronger;
We shall lose the balm of her budding breath,
We shall hear her voice no more;
We shall see those sweet eyes sealed in death,
That we once could so adore.
Yet shall I not weep, though losing all
For many long days I so have loved;
The tear that from mine eyes would fall,
My thought has well reproved:
For hers has been a doomed life,
And those who love her well, should pray,
That she may quickly lose the strife,
That has eaten her heart away.