22
poems.
ON THE DEATH OF MY FAVORITE KITTEN.
Gone thou art, and thy bed is made
Under the snow, so cold and chill;
Gone thou art, and silent thou art,
But thy memory makes my bosom thrill.
Under the snow, so cold and chill;
Gone thou art, and silent thou art,
But thy memory makes my bosom thrill.
Gone thou art: O, I loved thee so
When thou wert here 'mid our household band!
But now thou art gone, lying under the snow,
No more to come, or to feed from my hand.
When thou wert here 'mid our household band!
But now thou art gone, lying under the snow,
No more to come, or to feed from my hand.
I can see thy grave from the window-pane,
Down under the apple tree;
And my tears fall fast, like summer rain,
When T think, sweet pet, of thee.
Down under the apple tree;
And my tears fall fast, like summer rain,
When T think, sweet pet, of thee.
Thou art lying still, and thy earrings red
'Are covered by cold, cold snow;
And O, sweet one, how my heartstrings bled
When I was told that thou must go!
'Are covered by cold, cold snow;
And O, sweet one, how my heartstrings bled
When I was told that thou must go!
