Page:Poems Osgood.djvu/258

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248
the hour before the duel.

THE HOUR BEFORE THE DUEL.
Too late—too late—ye steal before me,
Fond thoughts of home, of love and joy
The wings of fate close darkening o'er
Oh God! my wife! my boy!

My own sweet wife! I see thy face—
Thy pure, young face upraised to mine,
Thy glossy ringlets' waving grace,
Thy blush, thy smile divine!

Thy pleading eyes, that droop'd like flowers
Beneath a cloud, when I was cold—
Oh! to win back the wasted hours,
My brief life's lavish'd gold!

My child! my heart's own hope and pride,
My dark-eyed, blooming, glorious boy!
Thou comest—Heaven! in mercy hide
That gaze of thoughtless joy!