THE LITTLE BROWN CURL.
283
The years went by with the silver feet, And often I laughed, with John,Of the vows we made by the parlor door, When the moon and stars looked on.
Ah! boyish vows are broken and lost, And a girl's first dream will end;But I dearly loved his beautiful wife, While he was my husband's friend.
When last I went to my childhood's home, Far over the bounding wave,I missed my friend, for the violets grew And blossomed over his grave.
To-day as I opened the old blue box, And looked on the soft brown curl,And read of the love John felt for me When I was a little girl,
There came in my heart a throb of pain, And my eyes grew moist with tears,For the childish love, and the dear, dead friend, And the long-lost buried years.
