MY NAMESAKE.
205
Sweet month of soft unsorrowing sighs
And fragrant breath;
Of tender showery, brooding skies;
Of life, not death;
And fragrant breath;
Of tender showery, brooding skies;
Of life, not death;
Her faint sweet memory entomb
In violets,
The pathos of whose faint perfume
Breathes no regrets!
In violets,
The pathos of whose faint perfume
Breathes no regrets!
How strange to enter Paradise,
As she to-day,
With not one tear in those sweet eyes
To wipe away!
As she to-day,
With not one tear in those sweet eyes
To wipe away!
