THE CONSUMPTIVE.
"Can this be death? There's bloom upon her cheek!
But now I see it is no living hue,
But a strange hectic—like the unnatural red
Which autumn plants upon the perished leaf."
But now I see it is no living hue,
But a strange hectic—like the unnatural red
Which autumn plants upon the perished leaf."
'Twas on a lovely sabbath eve,
I walked me forth to take the air,
When, 'neath a vine-clad cottage roof,
I saw a young and lovely pair:
The youth was tall and finely formed,
But in his dark, expressive eye
Some deep laid sorrow seemed to dwell,
And from his bosom came a sigh.
I walked me forth to take the air,
When, 'neath a vine-clad cottage roof,
I saw a young and lovely pair:
The youth was tall and finely formed,
But in his dark, expressive eye
Some deep laid sorrow seemed to dwell,
And from his bosom came a sigh.
The lady, fair and slightly formed,—
Her eyes were dark, and lustrous too,—
But, oh! that lovely cheek of hers
Wore far too deep the roseate hue.
Her eyes were dark, and lustrous too,—
But, oh! that lovely cheek of hers
Wore far too deep the roseate hue.
