the loved and lost.
23
The past, the past, 'tis robed in hues of brightness,
Its records tell of years how full of bliss,
When my young spirit in its joy and lightness,
Dreamed not of such a fearful woe as this.
Its records tell of years how full of bliss,
When my young spirit in its joy and lightness,
Dreamed not of such a fearful woe as this.
Dost thou still love me in that far-off heaven?
Or art thou near me on thy spirit wings?
Beloved, beloved, I cannot deem it riven,
That holy tie to which my heart yet clings:
Hast thou not seen the tears, which, like a river,
Swelled to the flood-gates of my breaking heart?
O say not thou art lost to me for ever—
We have been linked too fondly, thus to part.
Or art thou near me on thy spirit wings?
Beloved, beloved, I cannot deem it riven,
That holy tie to which my heart yet clings:
Hast thou not seen the tears, which, like a river,
Swelled to the flood-gates of my breaking heart?
O say not thou art lost to me for ever—
We have been linked too fondly, thus to part.
Come, come to bless me, with thine eyes kind beaming,
Let thy loved voice upon my fond ears thrill;
Come, with the light of heaven around thee streaming,
Come to the heart that weeps thee, loves thee still.
Ay! in its inmost core with sorrow breaking,
Still does that love with quenchless ardor burn;
While a sad voice within its depths awaking,
Hath but one echo, "O return, return."
Let thy loved voice upon my fond ears thrill;
Come, with the light of heaven around thee streaming,
Come to the heart that weeps thee, loves thee still.
Ay! in its inmost core with sorrow breaking,
Still does that love with quenchless ardor burn;
While a sad voice within its depths awaking,
Hath but one echo, "O return, return."
