When you go away, my friend,
When we say our last good-bye,
Then the summer time will end,
And the winter will be nigh.
Though the green grass decks the heather,
And the birds sing all the day,
There will be no summer weather,
After you have gone away.
When I look into your eyes,
I shall thrill with sharpest pain;
Thinking that beneath the skies,
I may never look again.
You will feel a moment's sorrow--
I shall feel a lasting grief;
You forgetting on the morrow--
I, to mourn with no relief
When we say the last, sad words,
And you are no longer near,
All the winds, and all the birds,
Can not keep the summer here.
Life will lose its full completeness,
Lose it, not for you, but me;
All the beauty and the sweetness
Earth can hold, I shall not see.
[LINES ON H--'S FOOT.]
It may be you've seen her eyes,
Dark and deep like midnight skies;
You mayhap have seen them flash
Underneath the drooping lash,
And been dazzled by the light
Of those orbs, so dark and bright;
But-have you seen her foot,
In its little gaiter boot?
You have noticed, maybe, how
The lily spreads from chin to brow.
You have thought her cheek more fair
Than if roses lingered there;
(Roses would seem out of place
On her pale patrician face)
But--again I question you,
Have you seen her tiny shoe?
You have thought her mouth, no doubt,
Like a blush-rose half blown out;
Small and sweet, withal, beside,
Touched with scorn and curved with pride;
(Innate pride-not meant to chill)--
You have seen it there, and still--
Answer one more question, pray--
Have you seen her boot? I say.