keepsakes.
71
And well she knew her fate must be
To bid farewell to stream and tree,
To mossy bank, to sylvan dell,
To woodpaths that she loved so well,
To bird and bud, to earth and sky,
Then turn from all their charms—and die.
'Twas sad to part; yet well she knew
Of that bright world beyond her view—
Of those unfading flowers, that blow
Where pure, untroubled waters flow:
And she had gazed, with Faith's keen eye,
Till doubt was changed to ecstacy,
And longed to seek those regions fair,
And find eternal spring-time there.
To bid farewell to stream and tree,
To mossy bank, to sylvan dell,
To woodpaths that she loved so well,
To bird and bud, to earth and sky,
Then turn from all their charms—and die.
'Twas sad to part; yet well she knew
Of that bright world beyond her view—
Of those unfading flowers, that blow
Where pure, untroubled waters flow:
And she had gazed, with Faith's keen eye,
Till doubt was changed to ecstacy,
And longed to seek those regions fair,
And find eternal spring-time there.
One morn I sought her cottage-door,
The old green woodbine, clambering o'er,
Checkered the sunshine on the floor,
With sweets perfumed the air:
I sat beside the dying child,
And watched how tranquilly she smiled—
How calm her features were:
Then from her head she bade me take,
The old green woodbine, clambering o'er,
Checkered the sunshine on the floor,
With sweets perfumed the air:
I sat beside the dying child,
And watched how tranquilly she smiled—
How calm her features were:
Then from her head she bade me take,
