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THE AURORA ON THE CLYDE.
I know that my love is fading;
I know I cannot fold
Her fragrance from the frost-blight,
Her beauty from the mould:
I know I cannot fold
Her fragrance from the frost-blight,
Her beauty from the mould:
But a little, little longer
She shall contented lie,
And wither away in the sunshine
Silently, silently.
She shall contented lie,
And wither away in the sunshine
Silently, silently.
Come when thou wilt, grim Winter,
My year is crowned and blest
If when my love is dying
She die upon my breast.
My year is crowned and blest
If when my love is dying
She die upon my breast.
THE AURORA ON THE CLYDE.
September, 1850.
H me, how heavily the night comes down,Heavily, heavily:
Fade the curved shores, the blue hills' serried throng,
The darkening waves we oared in light and song:
Joy melts from us as sunshine from the sky;
And Patience with sad eye
Takes up her staff and drops her withered crown.
