War, the Liberator, and Other Pieces/Song
For works with similar titles, see Song.
SONG
OH, come to me, come to me, bringing
The gifts that you brought me of old,
A world that will set me singing,
And a touch that will make me bold.
The world is too hard for my sorrow,
But it will grow soft to your feet,
But though you must leave me to-morrow,
To-night let your coming be fleet.
The gifts that you brought me of old,
A world that will set me singing,
And a touch that will make me bold.
The world is too hard for my sorrow,
But it will grow soft to your feet,
But though you must leave me to-morrow,
To-night let your coming be fleet.
Oh, come to me, come to me, leaving
The thought that would keep you away,
For the heart of your lover is grieving
In the midst of the beauty of May.
For the sorrows that hold me and bind me
When the blossom is fresh on the bough,
And the mists of illusion that blind me,
Oh, come to me, come to me, now.
The thought that would keep you away,
For the heart of your lover is grieving
In the midst of the beauty of May.
For the sorrows that hold me and bind me
When the blossom is fresh on the bough,
And the mists of illusion that blind me,
Oh, come to me, come to me, now.
Oh, come to me, come to me, over
The miles that would keep us apart,
Though far from the eyes of your lover,
At least you may visit his heart.
In the night-time, when lovers are nearest,
In dreams like a wandering fay,
Oh, come to me, come to me, dearest,
Although you must fly with the day.
The miles that would keep us apart,
Though far from the eyes of your lover,
At least you may visit his heart.
In the night-time, when lovers are nearest,
In dreams like a wandering fay,
Oh, come to me, come to me, dearest,
Although you must fly with the day.