Voices from home?
“Too sad our love would be
If thou wert gone!
Turn to us, leave us not!
Thou art our own!”
“O sister! hush that thrilling lute!—oh, cease that haunting lay!
Too deeply pierce those wild, sweet notes—yet, yet I cannot stay:
For weary, weary is my heart! I hear a whisper’d call
In every breeze that stirs the leaf and bids the blossom fall.
I cannot breathe in freedom here, my spirit pines to dwell