THE MOURNFUL HEART.
My heart is like a lonely bird,
That sadly sings,
Brooding upon its nest unheard,
With folded wings.
That sadly sings,
Brooding upon its nest unheard,
With folded wings.
For of my thoughts the sweetest part,
Lie all untold,
And treasured in this mournful heart
Like precious gold.
Lie all untold,
And treasured in this mournful heart
Like precious gold.
The fever-dreams, that haunt my soul,
Are deep and strong;
For through its deep recesses roll
Such floods of song.
Are deep and strong;
For through its deep recesses roll
Such floods of song.
I strive to calm, to lull to rest,
Each mournful strain,
To lay the phantom in my breast—
But ah! 't is vain.
Each mournful strain,
To lay the phantom in my breast—
But ah! 't is vain.
The glory of the silent skies,
Each kindling star,
The young leaves stirred with melodies,
My quiet mar.
Each kindling star,
The young leaves stirred with melodies,
My quiet mar.
