136
POEMS.
Nay, say not this is an idle dream—
Things seemed not once, as now they seem,
For in my own breast the change is wrought,
And sage is the lesson by sorrow taught,
As one by one the bright links part
That bind these spells o'er the youthful heart.
Things seemed not once, as now they seem,
For in my own breast the change is wrought,
And sage is the lesson by sorrow taught,
As one by one the bright links part
That bind these spells o'er the youthful heart.
