song.
147
SONG.
I cannot forget him!
I've lock'd up my soul;
But not till his image
Deep, deep in it stole.
I've lock'd up my soul;
But not till his image
Deep, deep in it stole.
I cannot forget him!
The Future can cast
No flower before me
So sweet as the Past.
The Future can cast
No flower before me
So sweet as the Past.
I turn to my books;
But his voice rich and rare,
Is blent with the genius
That speaks to me there.
But his voice rich and rare,
Is blent with the genius
That speaks to me there.
I tune my wild lyre,
But I think of the praise,
Too precious, too dear,
Which he lent to my lays!
But I think of the praise,
Too precious, too dear,
Which he lent to my lays!