Poems (Terry, 1861)/Recordare

by Rose Terry Cooke

RECORDARE. M.

Even as the Summer cries,
When the sunshine southward flies,
Weeping, weeping silently,
So I sit and mourn for thee.

Dreams that to thy dwelling go,
And come home alone and slow,
Constant springs of sorrow be,
As I sit and mourn for thee.

I remember all thy ways,
Sweeter than my lips can praise;
All I give that memory,
Is to sit and mourn for thee.

How should angels longer spare
One on earth without compare?
Thou, to their dear company,—
I, to sit and mourn for thee.

For the living be the moan.
Widowed, motherless, alone,
Love! alone for them and me,
Here I sit and mourn for thee.

Cradled in divine repose,
Thy new life of rapture flows.
God be thanked! too blest to see
How I sit and mourn for thee!