WAITING.
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The soft voice of pleasure and luxury's wile Methinks would grow pale in one welcoming smile,From the eyes of our boy, as he springs to your breast,His cheek against yours so caressingly pressed, His lips raining kisses on yours as they met them,— Two hearts here to worship you if you would let them.
Oh! force not the love that is thrillingly sweetTo droop like a floweret and fade at your feet; Affection can hold it in beauty erect, 'T will die if 't is pressed by the hand of neglect.Then come to the heart that is wretched and lonely,Whose tenderest pulse beats for you, and you only; I am weary, so weary of waiting alone, My spirit is yearning to welcome your own.
Think, darling, of all the bright years of my life,Those first loving years when you cherished your wife,— The pleasures and sorrows we have known together,— The two little graves lying close to each other,—
