Page:Poems Welby.djvu/82

That cheek is of its bloom bereft,
 That eye no more is gay;
Of all her beauties thou art left,
 A solitary ray.

Four years have past, this very June,
 Since last we fondly met—
Four years! and yet it seems too soon
 To let the heart forget—
Too soon to let that lovely face
 From our sad thoughts depart,
And to another give the place
 She held within the heart.

Her memory still within my mind
 Retains its sweetest power;
It is the perfume left behind
 To whisper of the flower;
Each blossom, that in moments gone
 Bound up this sunny curl,
Recalls the form, the look, the tone
 Of that enchanting girl.

Her step was like an April rain
 O'er beds of violets flung,
Her voice the prelude to a strain
 Before the song is sung;
Her life—'t was like a half-brown flower
 Closed ere the shades of even,