85
REMEMBRANCE.
Do not forget me—I would not my name
As a strange language, to your ears became,
But seldom uttered, only heard with sighs,
As harp-string to the moaning wind replies,
Not so, not so!
Speak of me, when the summer day is bright
With glorious sunbeams, and the golden light
Streams through the lattice of my own green bower;
Let me be there in that rejoicing hour
At least in name.
With glorious sunbeams, and the golden light
Streams through the lattice of my own green bower;
Let me be there in that rejoicing hour
At least in name.
