I see deep sadness in thy violet eyes,
As though thou knew’st thy kindest friend was gone.
Yes—she is gone—poor boy! poor orphan boy!
Too soon thou’lt find that thou art motherless;
For who will love thee with a mother’s love—
That sacred, changeless, deep, untiring love?
She loves thee still, my boy! and it may be
She watches o’er thee now with tender care,
A guardian angel to her own dear child!
My wife! my cherish’d wife! my bosom friend!