104
a lament for the wissahiccon.
I may not go, I may not go,
Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow,
Nor where the silver clouds go by,
Across the holy, deep blue sky,
Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright,
Comes down like a still shower of light;
I must stay here
In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow,
Nor where the silver clouds go by,
Across the holy, deep blue sky,
Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright,
Comes down like a still shower of light;
I must stay here
In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
Oh, that I were a thing with wings!
A bird, that in a May-hedge sings!
A lonely heather bell that swings
Upon some wild hill-side;
Or even a silly, senseless stone,
With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown,
Round which the waters glide.
A bird, that in a May-hedge sings!
A lonely heather bell that swings
Upon some wild hill-side;
Or even a silly, senseless stone,
With dark, green, starry moss o'ergrown,
Round which the waters glide.
