JENNY ALLEN.
111
A woman's grief and holy strength
Sprang up in your mournful eyes;
Ah, you were an angel, Jenny,
An angel in woman's guise.
Sprang up in your mournful eyes;
Ah, you were an angel, Jenny,
An angel in woman's guise.
But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny,
Your seraph features wore,
As I left you that dark autumn morn,
Left you forevermore;
And heaven seemed shut against me
As I blindly shut that door.
Your seraph features wore,
As I left you that dark autumn morn,
Left you forevermore;
And heaven seemed shut against me
As I blindly shut that door.
The years have rained on you golden gifts,
You dwell in a queenly show;
There are jewels of price in your silken hair,
And upon your neck of snow.
Do you ever think of me, Jenny,
And the dream of the long ago?
You dwell in a queenly show;
There are jewels of price in your silken hair,
And upon your neck of snow.
Do you ever think of me, Jenny,
And the dream of the long ago?
I have sat me down under foreign skies
Afire with an Orient glow;
I have seen the moon gild the desert sand,
And silver the Arctic snow,
But the thought of you, Jenny Allen,
Goes with me where I go.
Afire with an Orient glow;
I have seen the moon gild the desert sand,
And silver the Arctic snow,
But the thought of you, Jenny Allen,
Goes with me where I go.
