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Geo. H. Clark
Welaway.
By George H. Clark.
O softly blows the southern breeze
Beneath my window-blind,
And plumes its winnowing wings for one
It never more may find.
The birdling that you seek, O wind,
In your Æolian play,
Some wandering seraph, stooping, saw,
And bore to Heaven away.
Beneath my window-blind,
And plumes its winnowing wings for one
It never more may find.
The birdling that you seek, O wind,
In your Æolian play,
Some wandering seraph, stooping, saw,
And bore to Heaven away.
You took your flight, O southern breeze,
When Summer's sheaves were bent,
And there was sorrowing round my hearth,
When your sweet joyance went:
But little did I know how much
Of happiness was left,
Until of that young love of ours
My sad home was bereft.
When Summer's sheaves were bent,
And there was sorrowing round my hearth,
When your sweet joyance went:
But little did I know how much
Of happiness was left,
Until of that young love of ours
My sad home was bereft.
He went when Autumn's golden light
The glowing world o'erspread;
And left behind a night of gloom
And rayless dark instead.
Life was not life to me, unless
His presence formed a part,
For he was the irradiate light
And day-spring of my heart.
The glowing world o'erspread;
And left behind a night of gloom
And rayless dark instead.
Life was not life to me, unless
His presence formed a part,
For he was the irradiate light
And day-spring of my heart.
At sound of my familiar step,
How brightened all his looks;
Down went the play-things, and away
Went all his pictured books:
His little hands, like fluttering wings,
Were tremulous with joy,
And, happy in each other's arms,
The father clasped his boy.
How brightened all his looks;
Down went the play-things, and away
Went all his pictured books:
His little hands, like fluttering wings,
Were tremulous with joy,
And, happy in each other's arms,
The father clasped his boy.
We lived and loved—a blessed life—
As we shall live no more,
For angel-pinions bore him off
From this despairing shore:
The cloud that shut him from my sight
Cast back a fearful spell,
And made my quailing spirit shrink
Where its dark shadow fell.
As we shall live no more,
For angel-pinions bore him off
From this despairing shore:
The cloud that shut him from my sight
Cast back a fearful spell,
And made my quailing spirit shrink
Where its dark shadow fell.
Blow softly, gently, southern breeze,
Amind the buds and bloom,
And let your odor-laden airs
Search all the quiet room:
You can not find his sweeter breath,
Nor his red lips restore,
And though you gladden other hearts,
You wring my own the more.
Amind the buds and bloom,
And let your odor-laden airs
Search all the quiet room:
You can not find his sweeter breath,
Nor his red lips restore,
And though you gladden other hearts,
You wring my own the more.
I read aright the moaning sigh
Beneath my window-blind,
It is the loving sprite who seeks
For one it can not find:
For one whose bright and starry eyes
Are distant now, and dim,
While Memory fills its vacant halls
And corridors with him.
Beneath my window-blind,
It is the loving sprite who seeks
For one it can not find:
For one whose bright and starry eyes
Are distant now, and dim,
While Memory fills its vacant halls
And corridors with him.
O God! that such a world as this,
So beautiful and brave,
Should be of all our fondest loves
And dearest hopes the grave:
That in one bitter hour a blight
Should change its glorious hue,
And wither beauties, which no showers
Nor spring-time can renew!
So beautiful and brave,
Should be of all our fondest loves
And dearest hopes the grave:
That in one bitter hour a blight
Should change its glorious hue,
And wither beauties, which no showers
Nor spring-time can renew!