OCTOBER.
139
I hear the sound of thy moanings nigh,
Low, soft, and sweet as a spirit's sigh;
Not to the ear does it come alone,
The heart is filled with the solemn tone;
It calls from their cells the hidden tears,
To fall for the sorrows of other years;
And thy voice responds to the gloom of mine,
And my heart is heavy and sad as thine.
Low, soft, and sweet as a spirit's sigh;
Not to the ear does it come alone,
The heart is filled with the solemn tone;
It calls from their cells the hidden tears,
To fall for the sorrows of other years;
And thy voice responds to the gloom of mine,
And my heart is heavy and sad as thine.
Thou hast no leaf but recalls the thought,
To saddened memories that perish not;
Thou hast no flower but calls to mind,
The glory of things it has left behind;
The thought flashes back to that blessed land,
To restore one link to a broken band;
Alas! a stranger, it goes to share,
A gladness that is no longer there.
To saddened memories that perish not;
Thou hast no flower but calls to mind,
The glory of things it has left behind;
The thought flashes back to that blessed land,
To restore one link to a broken band;
Alas! a stranger, it goes to share,
A gladness that is no longer there.
It is gone forever! It will not come
To gladden the heart in its desert-home!
It is gone, to return no more, no more,
The time that is past, the season that's o'er;
Yet, beautiful month! in thy smile appears,
A light, like the glow of departed years,
And round thee, in silence, my spirit clings,
As I watch the hue of thy changing wings.
To gladden the heart in its desert-home!
It is gone, to return no more, no more,
The time that is past, the season that's o'er;
Yet, beautiful month! in thy smile appears,
A light, like the glow of departed years,
And round thee, in silence, my spirit clings,
As I watch the hue of thy changing wings.
