THE LONE ONE.
107
There blooms a single flower, a lonely flower
Of faded recollection, the "last rose"
Of joy's departed Summer, a sweet bloom
Whose sad pale beauty lingers mournfully
Upon life's darkened waste—it is the bloom
Of dear remembered love, and now my heart,
My weary heart, finds rapture in this spot
Of holy tryst.
Of faded recollection, the "last rose"
Of joy's departed Summer, a sweet bloom
Whose sad pale beauty lingers mournfully
Upon life's darkened waste—it is the bloom
Of dear remembered love, and now my heart,
My weary heart, finds rapture in this spot
Of holy tryst.
But, lo! the roseate tints
Have slowly faded from the Western sky,
The mystic lamps of Heaven shine far above,
And the pale moonbeams slumber with a wan
Mysterious light upon this blessed scene.
The falling dews are heavy on my hair,
Whilst tears, delicious tears, are welling up
From my heart's shadowed fount
Have slowly faded from the Western sky,
The mystic lamps of Heaven shine far above,
And the pale moonbeams slumber with a wan
Mysterious light upon this blessed scene.
The falling dews are heavy on my hair,
Whilst tears, delicious tears, are welling up
From my heart's shadowed fount
I am alone
With God and with His holy messengers
That guard this sacred place. A soft low prayer
Is gently stirring all my heart's young leaves,
With God and with His holy messengers
That guard this sacred place. A soft low prayer
Is gently stirring all my heart's young leaves,
