64
poems.
THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.
The wide, wide world is beautiful,
And decked with bright-hued flowers;
And happy songs of plumaged birds
Are echoed 'mong its bowers.
And decked with bright-hued flowers;
And happy songs of plumaged birds
Are echoed 'mong its bowers.
But still its joyous, gay, glad tone,
Sad, aching hearts conceal;
And often wounds are festering,
Which Time's touch ne'er can heal.
Sad, aching hearts conceal;
And often wounds are festering,
Which Time's touch ne'er can heal.
The tears which sad and mournful fall,
Are often flowing on,
'Mid natures gay, and pleasant strain,
And happy, flattering tongue.
Are often flowing on,
'Mid natures gay, and pleasant strain,
And happy, flattering tongue.
The wide, wide world may still move on,
Decked in her richest glow;
But there are many throbbing breasts,
More than we weak ones know.
Decked in her richest glow;
But there are many throbbing breasts,
More than we weak ones know.
