And the smiling, childlike lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear:
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,—
“Somebody’s darling slumbers here.”
—Marie Lacoste.
HOME, SWEET HOME
’Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home;