But, O, that voice, so low and sweet!
I ne’er shall hear it more;
The fond, warm heart hath ceased to beat—
My dream of bliss is o’er.
And still another picture there—
A being young and bright;
The captive sunbeams in her hair,
A form of love and light;
The deep blue tints that stain the sky,
When summer bids it gleam,