80
POEMS.
A little, oh! a little while!
And I must leave ye all,
And the dark leaves swept by the autumn wind,
On my lowly grave will fall;
Yet have I pined the op'ning buds
In their freshness bright to see,
And I've yearned to live till the summer came,
With its sweetest month to me.
Then, sister, twine me May flowers,
Remembrance fond to bring,
Of all I've loved and all I leave
In my early blighted spring:
And when again the breath of May
Steals forth o'er hill and dell,
Weep ye for her who passed away
Ere the summer blossoms fell!
H. A.
And I must leave ye all,
And the dark leaves swept by the autumn wind,
On my lowly grave will fall;
Yet have I pined the op'ning buds
In their freshness bright to see,
And I've yearned to live till the summer came,
With its sweetest month to me.
Then, sister, twine me May flowers,
Remembrance fond to bring,
Of all I've loved and all I leave
In my early blighted spring:
And when again the breath of May
Steals forth o'er hill and dell,
Weep ye for her who passed away
Ere the summer blossoms fell!
H. A.
