86
poems.
Years rolled on years; and sadly now
The green sod covers sweet Evelyn's brow;
The little cottage is empty and gray;
Type of things earthly—passing away.
The green sod covers sweet Evelyn's brow;
The little cottage is empty and gray;
Type of things earthly—passing away.
The children pass by, with reverent tread,
The graves of the quiet, sleeping dead;
But woe to the stranger's painful dart,
Which pierced and broke sweet Evelyn's heart.
The graves of the quiet, sleeping dead;
But woe to the stranger's painful dart,
Which pierced and broke sweet Evelyn's heart.
