Of joys the future held for thee in store.
I only knew that, seated now beside thee,
My hand lay trembling, nestling in thine own;
I only felt thy dear voice did not chide me —
Oh, how I treasured every careless tone.
Another hand in fancy thou wert pressing;
Another voice fell softly on thine ear:
And looks of love came—with a low-voiced blessing —
From beaming eyes, that memory brought so near.
While thoughts of a bright meeting on the morrow