A VALENTINE.
61
But hey, what matters? when those who laugh
May weep to-morrow, and they
Who weep be as those that wept not—all
Their tears long wiped away.
I shall burn out, like you, my Friend,
With a bright warm heart and bold,
That flickers up to the last—then drops
Into quiet ashes cold.
May weep to-morrow, and they
Who weep be as those that wept not—all
Their tears long wiped away.
I shall burn out, like you, my Friend,
With a bright warm heart and bold,
That flickers up to the last—then drops
Into quiet ashes cold.
And when you flicker on me, old Friend,
In the old man's elbow-chair,
Or—something easier still, where we
Lie down, to arise up fair
And young, and happy—why then, my Friend,
Should other friends ask of me,
Tell them I lived and loved and died
In the best of all company.
In the old man's elbow-chair,
Or—something easier still, where we
Lie down, to arise up fair
And young, and happy—why then, my Friend,
Should other friends ask of me,
Tell them I lived and loved and died
In the best of all company.
A VALENTINE.
E are twa laddies unco gleg,An' blithe an' bonnie:
As licht o' heel as Anster's Meg;—
Gin ye 'd a lassie's favor beg,
I' faith she couldna stir a peg
Ance lookin' on ye!
