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LOOKING BACK.
Dead leaves are in those woodland ways,—
Cold are the lips that used to kiss,—
'Twere idle to recall those days,
Or sigh for all that vanished bliss.
Still do you wear your old-time grace,
And charm new loves with ancient wiles?
Could I but watch your faithless face,
I'd know the meaning of your smiles.
Cold are the lips that used to kiss,—
'Twere idle to recall those days,
Or sigh for all that vanished bliss.
Still do you wear your old-time grace,
And charm new loves with ancient wiles?
Could I but watch your faithless face,
I'd know the meaning of your smiles.
