49
But oft that fiction of the brain
Has come to bless my sight again,
And oft I've thought how sweet 'twould be
To wander through this world with thee;
Not o'er its paths of false delight,
Where joy and mirth may greet the sight,
Yet turn to sorrow in the grasp
Which strives their fading forms to clasp;
But o'er that bright though narrow way,
Where joys are found which ne'er decay,
With thee to roam, and by thy side
To stem life's dark and stormy tide;
Together every ill to bear,
Together joy and sorrow share,
And reach at eve that peaceful shore,
Where all shall toil and weep no more.
Has come to bless my sight again,
And oft I've thought how sweet 'twould be
To wander through this world with thee;
Not o'er its paths of false delight,
Where joy and mirth may greet the sight,
Yet turn to sorrow in the grasp
Which strives their fading forms to clasp;
But o'er that bright though narrow way,
Where joys are found which ne'er decay,
With thee to roam, and by thy side
To stem life's dark and stormy tide;
Together every ill to bear,
Together joy and sorrow share,
And reach at eve that peaceful shore,
Where all shall toil and weep no more.
E.
May 23, 1834.
