Bright as the morn sparkling in dew,
Blooming with roses’ beauteous hue;
Pure as an angel, artless and true,
Smiling in gladness, loving me too.
When o’er the lea with silent wing
Summer was stealing flowers of spring,
In a sweet valley, where willows wave
O’er faded blossom, made we her grave.
I’m only waiting for that blest hour
When I shall rest with my lost flower,
Waking at last where the perfect day
In loveliness shall fade not away.
DRIFTING.
The day has gone and the night is come,
Dreary, dreary, dreary;
And hope is dying within my breast,
Weary, weary, weary.
The pitiless winds sweep the earth in wrath,
Drifting, drifting, drifting
The fierce white snow, with a wail of woe,
Over the wild, dark reaches sifting.
I sit by the dim, forsaken hearth,
Thinking, thinking, thinking
Of a love that ne’er can come to me;
Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking
From the cold clasp of a fateful hand
That shadowed all the years.
Dreary without, and dreary within,
Dying, dying, dying
Is the last hope of a broken life
That can love and trust no more.