I’ve loved thee, as a mother loves her child of tender care;
I’ve loved thee, as the murky morn to hail the sunny beam;
I’ve loved thee, as the moonlit loves to dance upon the stream —
As all these, did I love thee, and with yet a wilder spell;
’Till thy coldness caused my spirit to sound love’s parting knell;
And though in fearful stillness my life glides gently on,
There is one note of harmony I feel forever gone.
Other hands might sweep the strings, and even thine may try,
But never shall an echoing sound to the sweet tune reply.
ANNIE GREY.