THE DEAD.
When the clear red sun goes down,
Passing in glory away;
And Night is spreading her twilight frown
On the open brow of Day;
When the faintest glimmering trace is gone,
And all of light is fled;
Then, then does Memory, sad and lone,
Call back the dear ones dead.
Passing in glory away;
And Night is spreading her twilight frown
On the open brow of Day;
When the faintest glimmering trace is gone,
And all of light is fled;
Then, then does Memory, sad and lone,
Call back the dear ones dead.
When the harp's soul-touching chord
Is roughly fray'd and torn;
When of all tones the string that poured
The fullest is outworn;
When it is heard to breathe and break,
Its latest magic shed;
Then, then will my warm heart bleed and ache,
And weep for the kind ones dead.
Is roughly fray'd and torn;
When of all tones the string that poured
The fullest is outworn;
When it is heard to breathe and break,
Its latest magic shed;
Then, then will my warm heart bleed and ache,
And weep for the kind ones dead.
When the elm's rich leaf is seen
Losing its freshness fast;
And paleness steals on its vivid green,
As the autumn wind moans past;
When it eddies to the cold damp ground,
All crush'd beneath the tread;
Then, then may the sigh on my lip be found,
For I muse on the fair ones dead.
Losing its freshness fast;
And paleness steals on its vivid green,
As the autumn wind moans past;
When it eddies to the cold damp ground,
All crush'd beneath the tread;
Then, then may the sigh on my lip be found,
For I muse on the fair ones dead.
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