A RICH MAN'S REVERIE.
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What tender-eyed angel bentDown for my brown-eyed little bird,From the shining battlement.I know with what fond caressing,And loving smile and word,And look of tender blessing,She took her to her breast,And led her into some quiet room,In the mansions of the blest.Oh, mother, beloved, oh, child so dear,Not by a wish, would I lure you here.
My son is a bright, brave boy, with a graceOf beauty caught from his mother's face,And his mother and he in truth are dear,Full tenderly, and fond, and nearMy heart is bound to my wife and child;But the summer of life is not its May,And dreams and hopes that our youth beguiled,Are but pallid forms of clay.
There's the boy's first love and passionate dream,A face like a morning star, a gleamOf hair the hue of a robin's wing—Brown hair aglow with a golden sheen,And eyes the sweetest that ever were seen.
