Sonnet 14
Are these wild thoughts, thus fettered in my rhymes,
Indeed the product of my heart and brain?
How strange that on my ear the rhythmic strain
Falls like faint memories of far-off times!
When did I feel the sorrow, act the part,
Which I have striv'n to shadow forth in song?
In what dead century swept that mingled throng
Of mighty pains and pleasures through my heart?
Not in the yesterdays of that still life
Which I have passed so free and far from strife,
But somewhere in this weary world I know,
In some strange land, beneath some orient clime,
I saw or shared a martyrdom sublime,
And felt a deeper grief than any later woe.
poem by Henry Timrod
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Tourists
In a strange town in a far land
They met amid a throng;
They stared, they could not understand
How life was sudden song.
As brown eyes looked in eyes of grey
Just for a moment's space,
Twin spirits met with sweet dismay
In that strange place.
And then the mob that swept them near
Reft them away again;
Two hearts in all the world most dear
Knew puzzlement and pain.
They barely brushed in passing by,
A wildered girl and boy,
Who should have clasped with laughing cry,
And wept for joy.
But no, the crowd cleft them apart,
And she went East, he West;
But there was havoc in his heart
And brooding in her breast.
In a far land, in a strange town
Amid a mob they met;
They stared, they passed . . . But O deep down,
Can they forget?
poem by Robert William Service
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In The Forest
HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.
But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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The Reward Of Song
_Why do we make our music?_
Oh, blind dark strings reply:
Because we dwell in a strange land
And remember a lost sky.
We ask no leaf of the laurel,
We know what fame is worth;
But our songs break out of our winter
As the flowers break out on the earth.
And we dream of the unknown comrade,
In the days when we lie dead,
Who shall open our book in the sunlight,
And read, as ourselves have read,
On a lonely hill, by a firwood,
With whispering seas below,
And murmur a song we made him
Ages and ages ago.
If making his may-time sweeter
With dews of our own dead may,
One pulse of our own dead heart-strings
Awake in his heart that day,
We would pray for no richer guerdon,
No praise from the careless throng;
For song is the cry of a lover
In quest of an answering song.
As a child might run to his elders
With news of an opening flower
We should walk with our young companion
And talk to his heart for an hour,
As once by my own green firwood,
And once by a Western sea,
Thank God, my own good comrades
Have walked and talked with me.
Too mighty to make men sorrow,
Too weak to heal their pain
(Though they that remember the hawthorn
May find their heaven again),
We are moved by a deeper hunger;
We are bound by a stronger cord;
For love is the heart of our music,
And love is its one reward.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Aint It Funny[Murder Remix] - Caddillac Tah
Estoy loca enamorda de ti...
It seemed to be like the perfect thing for you & me
Its so ironic youre what I had pictured you to be
But there are facts in our lives we can never change
Just tell me that you understand & you feel the same
This perfect romance that Ive created in my mind
Id live a thousand lives
Each one with you right by my side
But yet we find ourselves
In a less than perfect circumstance
And so it seems like well never have the chance
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant move on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh , I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a moment could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
Sometimes I think that a true love can never be
I just believe that somehow it wasnt meant for me
Life can be cruel in a way that I cant explain
And I dont think that I could face it all again
I barely know you but somehow I know what youre about
A deeper love Ive found in you & I no longer doubt
Youve touched my heart & it altered every plan Ive made
And now I feel that I dont have to be afraid
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant moved on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh , I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a momant could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
I locked away my heart but you just set it free
Emotions I felt held me back from what my life should be
I pushed you far away & yet you stayed with me
I guess this means that you & me were meant to be
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant moved on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh , I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a momant could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant moved on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh , I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a momant could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant moved on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh , I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a momant could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
song performed by by Jennifer Lopez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cloud Confines
The day is dark and the night
To him that would search their heart;
No lips of cloud that will part
Nor morning song in the light:
Only, gazing alone,
To him wild shadows are shown,
Deep under deep unknown
And height above unknown height.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
The Past is over and fled;
Nam'd new, we name it the old;
Thereof some tale hath been told,
But no word comes from the dead;
Whether at all they be,
Or whether as bond or free,
Or whether they too were we,
Or by what spell they have sped.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of hate
That beats in thy breast, O Time?--
Red strife from the furthest prime,
And anguish of fierce debate;
War that shatters her slain,
And peace that grinds them as grain,
And eyes fix'd ever in vain
On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of love
That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?--
Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban
Of fangs that mock them above;
Thy bells prolong'd unto knells,
Thy hope that a breath dispels,
Thy bitter forlorn farewells
And the empty echoes thereof?
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
The sky leans dumb on the sea,
Aweary with all its wings;
And oh! the song the sea sings
Is dark everlastingly.
Our past is clean forgot,
Our present is and is not,
Our future's a seal'd seedplot,
And what betwixt them are we?--
We who say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A River For Him
(emmylou harris)
I crossed on the river
Therell be no returning
I crossed all the bridges
I watched them all burning
And now Im a stranger
To a strange land Im driven
Where all is forgotten
And nothings forgiven
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
I think of him now
On the road I am taking
And wonder how long
His heart will be breaking
But hell never hear when
The teardrops are falling
Or the sound of my voice
And the name Im calling
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
So sweep for the sons
And the dear darling daughters
For the passing of time
And the parting of waters
For all who have passed through
This world long before me
To a far distant shore line
Where no one waits for me
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happier Days
I’m in love with memories
Of times that were better,
But remembering these times
Makes me wish I was dead.
I remember no actions,
Just thoughts and feelings,
And I think about these
To get out of my head.
And I’m not sure why
I get feelings of sorrow
From the happiest times
In my short, empty life.
But I still love those memories
Of times I was happy,
Times when I begged
For sorrow and strife.
poem by Solomon Markson
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Hard Times
(stephen foster)
Let us pause in lifes pleasures and count its many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor.
Theres a song that will linger forever in our ears,
Oh, hard times, come again no more
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay.
There are frail forms fainting at the door
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
Theres a pale drooping maiden who foils her life away
With a worn out heart, whose better days are oer.
Though her voice it would be merry, tis sighing all the day,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hard Times
1. let us pause in lifes pleasures and count its many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor.
Theres a song that will linger forever in our ears,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
2. while we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay.
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
3. theres pale drooping maiden who foils her life away
With a worn out heart, whose better days are oer.
Though her voice it would be merry, tis sighing all the day,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
tis the song, the sigh of the weary.
Hard times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered all around my cabin door.
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only a Simple Rhyme
Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow,
Where 'blisses' rhymed with 'kisses,' 'heart,' with 'dart:'
Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,
To live on bravely and to do my part.
A little rhyme about a heart that's bleeding—
Of lonely hours and sorrow's unrelief:
I smiled at first; but there came with the reading
A sense of sweet companionship in grief.
The selfishness of my own woe forsaking,
I thought about the singer of that song.
Some other breast felt this same weary aching;
Another found the summer days too long.
The few sad lines, my sorrow so expressing,
I read, and on the singer, all unknown,
I breathed a fervent though a silent blessing,
And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.
And though fame pass him and he never know it,
And though he never sings another strain,
He has performed the mission of the poet,
In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Strange
Strange indeed as it may sound, Eternal God walked this ground.
Jesus had come down to the earth, through the Virgin Mary’s birth.
Strange enough, as this may be, He came to die for you and me.
He had a body prepared for Him, a body that was free of any sin.
Strange, The Lion of Judah’s Clan, came to be for all men, a lamb,
The Lamb of God from up above, sent to all by The Father’s Love.
He came to pay an awesome price, to be for The Father a sacrifice.
Christ did just what He said, when crucified and rose from the dead.
Strange the ones He came to save, thought that He was depraved.
And the people He came to set free, had The Lord nailed on a tree.
And Christ was mocked and despised, by those thought to be wise.
Strange that they couldn’t discern, scriptures that they had learned.
Strange, He came to give His life, and only received religious strife.
From religious people of the land, who with Truth didn’t understand.
Without knowledge they had zeal, that blinded men to who was real.
After His death Christ rose again, but didn’t change the heart of men.
Strange even after all the years; some men still have religious fears,
When He came to set men free, from that snare of man’s religiosity,
As we continue receiving reproof, from men opposed to God’s Truth.
Strange will soon turn into reality, when they see the Lord of Eternity.
(Copyright ©08/2006)
Inner voices of my heart
My heart crushes when I think of you.
My heart breaks while you're somewhere doing ' God knows who'.
My heart crumbles everytime I breathe.
My heart crumples as our song keeps on playing.
My heart cries if I see just a picture of you.
My heart beats with pain.
My heart stumbles every moment I realize that you don't love me anymore.
My heart bleeds faster than our fading memories.
My heart falls apart each hour without you.
My heart drowns deeper and deeper.
My heart dies for you.
My heart loves you and only 'YOU'.
(4th February 2009)
poem by Norchel Tingson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Collins Street
I stood in the heart of the city street,
I felt the throb of her pulses beat,
The thunder of life on the sunny air,
The waves of the people everywhere,
Like the stirring lilt of a mighty song
Ran the fever of life in the moving throng,
With the hope and joy and the want and woe
Of a million souls in its ebb and flow.
Like a floating straw in an eddy caught
My soul was whirled in the city’s thought—
The purse-born pride and the scheming brain,
The grinding need and the grasping gain;
The silent strength that is born to rule,
And the shallow laugh of the feckless fool,
The fresh young face where no shadow lies,
And the quenchless pain in the harlot’s eyes.
I stood in the heart of the city street,
And I heard not the tread of the passing feet,
For the days were grey and the nights were long,
And my soul was vexed with a wild sad song,
And the world like a stream flowed thro’ my brain,
And I saw her lands in a dream of pain,
And her power enthroned on the people’s needs,
And her heroes dead for a hundred creeds.
And I saw thro’ the pageant moving on
The same dark horrors of ages gone,
The dumb despair and the dire distress,
And man still mad in his littleness.
Who cares tho’ Earth be a masterpiece,
If pain and sorrow shall never cease?
Does God endure in His vaulted skies
The hopeless pain in His creatures’ eyes?
Then I saw, like a glory shining thro’,
What man had conquered and yet shall do.
I saw the depths where he lay of old,
And the heights of a splendour yet untold.
And I knew, in a flash, since the world began
What man had suffered and done for man,
And I felt like a note that is borne along
On the upward swell of a battle song.
poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aint It Funny
It seemed to be like the perfect thing for you and me
Its so ironic youre what I had pictured you to be
But there are facts in our lives
We can never change
Just tell me that you understand and you feel the same
This perfect romance that Ive created in my mind
Id live a thousand lives
Each one with you right by my side
But yet we find ourselves in a less than perfect circumstance
And so it seems like well never have the chance
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant move on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh, I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a moment could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
Sometimes I think that a true love can never be
I just believe that somehow it wasnt meant for me
Life can be cruel in a way that I cant explain
And I dont think that I could face it all again
I barely know you but somehow I know what youre about
A deeper love Ive found in you
And I no longer doubt
Youve touched my heart and it altered every plan Ive made
And now I feel that I dont have to be afraid
Aint it funny how some feelings you just cant deny
And you cant move on even though you try
Aint it strange when your feeling things you shouldnt feel
Oh, I wish this could be real
Aint it funny how a moment could just change your life
And you dont want to face whats wrong or right
Aint it strange how fate can play a part
In the story of your heart
I locked away my heart
But you just set it free
Emotions I felt
Held me back from what my life should be
I pushed you far away
And yet you stayed with me
I guess this means
That you and me were meant to be
(chorus x4)
song performed by by Jennifer Lopez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Georgie Sails To-Morrow!
For sixteen years, a merry, laughing maiden,
I have warbl'd only songs of joy;
And in this heart, so very lightly laden,
Happy thoughts have ever found employ.
But times will change! and now there comes a sorrow,
Which bids me ev'ry joy resign:
My Georgie sails for China seas tomorrow,
And he knows not yet that he is mine--
My Georgie sails for China seas tomorrow,
And he knows not yet that he is mine--
How should he know? 'twas from a dream awaking,
When they told me he and I must part;
For not until the tie was nearly breaking,
Had I felt its tendrils on my heart.
These lips are seal'd--I cannot tell my sorrow,
And hope must die without a sign:
Oh, who can tell the fearful scenes of danger,
And the hardships Georgie dear must know!
On stormy seas, in foreign lands a stranger,
Oh, I cannot, cannot let him go!
My heart will break! where shall I patience borrow,
For months thro' which I can but pine?
The last farewell--that solemn word is spoken,
And my spirit trembles with its thrill;
His manly tones, by deep emotion broken,
In my inmost soul are ringing still.
But strange, wild joy is mingled with my sorrow,
And smiles among my tear-drops shine:
My Georgie sails for China seas to-morrow,
But he knows--he knows that he is mine.
My Georgie sails for China seas to-morrow,
But he knows--he knows that he is mine.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Wino And I Know
The ice cream man he's a hillbilly fan,
He's got seventy-eights by Hank Snow;
Walks down the street, shufflin' his feet,
To the rhythm that only he knows.
And I've seen him in so many places,
I saw him the night I was born;
In a Bourbon Street bar I received my first scar
From an old man so tattered and torn.
And the Wino and I know the pains of street singin'
Like the door-to-door salesman knows
the pains of bell ringin'
It's a strange situation,
a wild occupation,
Living my life like a song.
Well the coffee is strong
at the Cafe Du Monde,
And the donuts are too hot to touch;
But just like a fool, when those
sweet goodies cool, I ate 'til I ate way too much.
Cause I'm livin' on things that excite me,
Be they pastries or lobsters or love;
I'm just tryin' to get by being quiet and shy,
In a world full of pushin' and shove.
And the Wino and I know the pains of backbustin',
Like the farmer knows the pain of his pick-up
truck rustin'.
It's a strange situation, a wild occupation,
Living my life like a song.
Sweet Senorita, Won't you please come with me?
Back to the island, honey, back to the sea;
Back to the only place that I want to be.
And the Wino and I know the joys of the ocean,
Like a boy knows the joys of his milkshake
in motion.
It's a strange situation, a wild occupation,
Living my life like a song.
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weary
WEARY of the ceaseless war
Beating down the baffled soul,—
Thoughts that like a scimitar
Smite us fainting at the goal.
Weary of the joys that pain—
Dead sea fruits whose ashes fall,
Drying up the summer’s rain—
Charnel dust in cups of gall!
Weary of the hopes that fail,
Leading from the narrow way,
Tempting strength to actions frail—
Hand to err, and foot to stray.
Weary of the battling throng,
False and true in mingled fight;
Weary of the wail of wrong,
And the yearning for the night!
Weary, weary, weary Heart!
Lacerated, crush’d and dumb.
None to know thee as thou art!
When will rest unbroken come?
poem by Sir Henry Parkes
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The Teacher's Monologue
The room is quiet, thoughts alone
People its mute tranquillity;
The yoke put on, the long task done,
I am, as it is bliss to be,
Still and untroubled. Now, I see,
For the first time, how soft the day
O'er waveless water, stirless tree,
Silent and sunny, wings its way.
Now, as I watch that distant hill,
So faint, so blue, so far removed,
Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill,
That home where I am known and loved:
It lies beyond; yon azure brow
Parts me from all Earth holds for me;
And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow
Thitherward tending, changelessly.
My happiest hours, aye ! all the time,
I love to keep in memory,
Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime
Decayed to dark anxiety.
Sometimes, I think a narrow heart
Makes me thus mourn those far away,
And keeps my love so far apart
From friends and friendships of to-day;
Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream
I measure up so jealously,
All the sweet thoughts I live on seem
To vanish into vacancy:
And then, this strange, coarse world around
Seems all that's palpable and true;
And every sight, and every sound,
Combines my spirit to subdue
To aching grief, so void and lone
Is Life and Earthso worse than vain,
The hopes that, in my own heart sown,
And cherished by such sun and rain
As Joy and transient Sorrow shed,
Have ripened to a harvest there:
Alas ! methinks I hear it said,
'Thy golden sheaves are empty air.'
All fades away; my very home
I think will soon be desolate;
I hear, at times, a warning come
Of bitter partings at its gate;
And, if I should return and see
The hearth-fire quenched, the vacant chair;
And hear it whispered mournfully,
That farewells have been spoken there,
What shall I do, and whither turn?
Where look for peace? When cease to mourn?
'Tis not the air I wished to play,
The strain I wished to sing;
My wilful spirit slipped away
And struck another string.
I neither wanted smile nor tear,
Bright joy nor bitter woe,
But just a song that sweet and clear,
Though haply sad, might flow.
A quiet song, to solace me
When sleep refused to come;
A strain to chase despondency,
When sorrowful for home.
In vain I try; I cannot sing;
All feels so cold and dead;
No wild distress, no gushing spring
Of tears in anguish shed;
But all the impatient gloom of one
Who waits a distant day,
When, some great task of suffering done,
Repose shall toil repay.
For youth departs, and pleasure flies,
And life consumes away,
And youth's rejoicing ardour dies
Beneath this drear delay;
And Patience, weary with her yoke,
Is yielding to despair,
And Health's elastic spring is broke
Beneath the strain of care.
Life will be gone ere I have lived;
Where now is Life's first prime?
I've worked and studied, longed and grieved,
Through all that rosy time.
To toil, to think, to long, to grieve,
Is such my future fate?
The morn was dreary, must the eve
Be also desolate?
Well, such a life at least makes Death
A welcome, wished-for friend;
Then, aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith,
To suffer to the end!
poem by Charlotte Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Remembering Golden Bells
Ruined and ill—a man of two score;
Pretty and guileless—a girl of three.
Not a boy—but still better than nothing:
To soothe one’s feeling—from time to time a kiss!
There came a day—they suddenly took her from me;
Her soul’s shadow wandered I know not where.
And when I remember how just at the time she died
She lisped strange sounds, beginning to learn to talk,
Then I know that the ties of flesh and blood
Only bind us to a load of grief and sorrow.
At last, by thinking of the time before she was born,
By thought and reason I drove the pain away.
Since my heart forgot her, many days have passed
And three times winter has changed to spring.
This morning, for a little, the old grief came back,
Because, in the road, I met her foster-nurse