BEREFT.
I.
No more to feel the pressure warm
Of dimpled arms around your neck—
No more to clasp the little form
That Nature did with beauty deck.
II.
No more to hear the music sweet
Of merry laugh and prattling talk—
No more to see the busy feet
Come toddling down the shaded walk.
III.
No more the glint of flaxen hair
That nestled 'round the lilied brow—
No more the rose's bloom will wear
The cheek so cold and pallid now.
IV.