to a friend parting.
147
Think of me—when?
As some sweet strain we have loved to hear,
Comes with a pathos deep to thine ear,
And a soft note over thy senses flung,
Brings back the time when that lay was sung,
Think of me then.
As some sweet strain we have loved to hear,
Comes with a pathos deep to thine ear,
And a soft note over thy senses flung,
Brings back the time when that lay was sung,
Think of me then.
Think of me—when?
In the early hours of the summer morn,
When no rude sounds on the breeze are borne,
When all is balmy, and sweet, and still,
And the mists are rising from stream and hill,
Think of me then.
In the early hours of the summer morn,
When no rude sounds on the breeze are borne,
When all is balmy, and sweet, and still,
And the mists are rising from stream and hill,
Think of me then.
Think of me—when?
At that lone hour, when on bended knee,
Thou art breathing a prayer to the Deity,
That all whom thou lovest he may defend,
Oh, ask some boon for thy distant friend—
Think of me then.
At that lone hour, when on bended knee,
Thou art breathing a prayer to the Deity,
That all whom thou lovest he may defend,
Oh, ask some boon for thy distant friend—
Think of me then.
