Poems.
35
Then will the sweet birds sing,
Then will fresh flowers spring
Over my humble grave.
The soft and gentle breeze,
Sighing among the trees,
The requiem I crave.
Then will fresh flowers spring
Over my humble grave.
The soft and gentle breeze,
Sighing among the trees,
The requiem I crave.
Though life hath many joys,
They 're tinctured with alloys,
To bid us look above:
Fain would my spirit soar,
And that great God adore,
Of pure and boundless love.
They 're tinctured with alloys,
To bid us look above:
Fain would my spirit soar,
And that great God adore,
Of pure and boundless love.
Yes, I would die in Spring;
Then would my spirit wing
Its unseen flight on high:
And at the day's pale close,
Ere night its mantle throws,
The time, I'd like to die.
Then would my spirit wing
Its unseen flight on high:
And at the day's pale close,
Ere night its mantle throws,
The time, I'd like to die.
For twilight's pensive shades,
The hour when daylight fades,
Seems sweetest to depart;
There 's stillness in the air,
Which, Zephyr-like would bear
Away my troubled heart.
The hour when daylight fades,
Seems sweetest to depart;
There 's stillness in the air,
Which, Zephyr-like would bear
Away my troubled heart.
