144
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
SONG.
Farewell, farewell, I'll dream no more,
'T is misery to be dreaming;
Farewell, farewell, and I will be
At least like thee in seeming.
I will go forth to the green vale,
Where the sweet wild flowers are dwelling,
Where the leaves and the birds together sing,
And the woodland fount is welling.
Not there, not there, too much of bloom
Has spring flung o'er each blossom;
The tranquil place too much contrasts
The unrest of my bosom.
I will go to the lighted halls,
Where midnight passes fleetest;
