'Tis past,—and the green grass grows over,
The grave that hides her and our shame;
None ever knew who was her lover,
For her lips never uttered his name.
But at night when the city is sleeping,
I steal with a tremulous tread,
And spend the dark solemn hours weeping,
O'er the grave of the deeply wronged dead.
My Queen
Annie—Oh! what a weary while
It seems since that sad day;
When whispering a fond "good bye,"
I tore myself away.
And yet, 'tis only two short years;
How has it seemed to thee?
To me, those lonesome years appear
Like an eternity.
We loved,—Ah, me! how much we loved;
How happy passed the day
When pouring forth enraptured vows,
The charmed hours passed away.
In every leaf we beauty saw,—
In every song and sound,
Some sweet entrancing melody,
To soothe our hearts we found.
And now it haunts me as a dream,—
A thing that could not be!—
That one so pure and beautiful
Could ever care for me.
But I still have the nut-brown curl,
Which tells me it is true;
And in my fancy I can see
The brow where once it grew.
Those eyes, whose pensive, loving light,
Did thrill me through and through:
Still follow me by day and night,
As they were wont to do.
Thy smile still haunts me, and thy voice,
At times I seem to hear;
And when the scented zephyrs pass
I fancy thou art near.
'Twill not be long, dear heart, (although
It will seem long to me;)
Until I clasp thee once again;
To part no more from thee.
Though storms may roar, and oceans rage
And furies vent their spleen;—
There's naught shall keep me from my love;
My beautiful;—my queen!
Now and Then.
Did we but know what lurks beyond the NOW;
Could we but see what the dim future hides;
Had we some power occult that would us show
The joy and sorrow which in THEN abides;
Would life be happier,—or less fraught with woe,
Did we but know?
I long, yet fear to pierce those clouds ahead;—
To solve life's secrets,—learn what means this death.
Are fresh joys waiting for the silent dead?
Or do we perish with am fleeting breath?
If not; then whither will the spirit go?
Did we but know.