A LIVING PICTURE.
49
"It might have been!"—Ada, I will be true
Unto myself—the self that so loved thine:
May all life's pain, like these few tears that spring
For me, glance off as rain-drops from my white dove's wing!
Unto myself—the self that so loved thine:
May all life's pain, like these few tears that spring
For me, glance off as rain-drops from my white dove's wing!
May you live long, some good man's bosom- flower,
And gather children round your matron knees:
So, when all this is past, and you and I
Remember each our youth-days as an hour
Of joy—or anguish, one, serene, at ease,
May come to meet the other's steadfast eye,
Thinking, "He loved me well!" clasp hands, and so pass by.
And gather children round your matron knees:
So, when all this is past, and you and I
Remember each our youth-days as an hour
Of joy—or anguish, one, serene, at ease,
May come to meet the other's steadfast eye,
Thinking, "He loved me well!" clasp hands, and so pass by.
A LIVING PICTURE.
O, I 'll not say your name. I have said it now,As you mine, first in childish treble, then
Up through a score and more familiar years
Till baby-voices mock us. Time may come
When your tall sons look down on our white hair,
