Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/157

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SONG.

I cannot forget him!
 I've lock'd up my soul;
But not till his image
 Deep, deep in it stole.

I cannot forget him!
 The Future can cast
No flower before me
 So sweet as the Past.

I turn to my books;
 But his voice rich and rare,
Is blent with the genius
 That speaks to me there.

I tune my wild lyre,
 But I think of the praise,
Too precious, too dear,
 Which he lent to my lays!