SONG
OH, come to me, come to me, bringing
The gifts that you brought me of old,
A world that will set me singing,
And a touch that will make me bold.
The world is too hard for my sorrow,
But it will grow soft to your feet,
But though you must leave me to-morrow,
To-night let your coming be fleet.
The gifts that you brought me of old,
A world that will set me singing,
And a touch that will make me bold.
The world is too hard for my sorrow,
But it will grow soft to your feet,
But though you must leave me to-morrow,
To-night let your coming be fleet.
Oh, come to me, come to me, leaving
The thought that would keep you away,
For the heart of your lover is grieving
In the midst of the beauty of May.
For the sorrows that hold me and bind me
When the blossom is fresh on the bough,
And the mists of illusion that blind me,
Oh, come to me, come to me, now.
The thought that would keep you away,
For the heart of your lover is grieving
In the midst of the beauty of May.
For the sorrows that hold me and bind me
When the blossom is fresh on the bough,
And the mists of illusion that blind me,
Oh, come to me, come to me, now.
48
