THE OLD HEART-RUG.
161
I mark the change in thee and me,
Nor would I from my mentor flee;
My own dark locks to gray will turn—
Time! let me ne'er thy caution spurn;
Thy pen hath graven on my heart,—
My rug and I at length must part.
Nor would I from my mentor flee;
My own dark locks to gray will turn—
Time! let me ne'er thy caution spurn;
Thy pen hath graven on my heart,—
My rug and I at length must part.
Though rent and faded, burnt and worn,
Ere to oblivion it is borne;
I tune my harp, it is but due,
My old hearth-rug, to sing of you,
Would that all human friends might prove
As worthy of a song of love.
Ere to oblivion it is borne;
I tune my harp, it is but due,
My old hearth-rug, to sing of you,
Would that all human friends might prove
As worthy of a song of love.
