REPLY TO BYRONA.
How shall I thank thee? not with words;—
These burning tears can speak,—
This bitter agony of heart,—
This blanching of the cheek.
These burning tears can speak,—
This bitter agony of heart,—
This blanching of the cheek.
For thou hast touched a mournful chord,
That vibrates every hour,
With all a poet's gentle skill,—
A woman's gentle power.
That vibrates every hour,
With all a poet's gentle skill,—
A woman's gentle power.
Thou'st brought 'me back to other days,—
The tender and the good,
Who's sleeping in his silent home,
'Midst woodland solitude.
The tender and the good,
Who's sleeping in his silent home,
'Midst woodland solitude.
