176
STOLEN WATERS.
To die! To die? And yet, methinks,
I drink of life to-day,
Deep as the thirsty traveller drinks
Of fountain by the way:
My voice is sad, my heart is gay.
When yestereve was on the wane,
I heard a clear voice singing;
And suddenly, like summer rain,
My happy tears came springing:
My human heart returned again.
"A rosy child—
Sitting and singing, in a garden fair,
The joy of hearing, seeing,
The simple joy of being—
Or twining rosebuds in the golden hair
That ripples free and wild.
