THE SAD STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL.
Oh, never mind her eyes and hair,
(Though they were dark and it was gold.)
That she was sweet is all I care
To tell you—till the rest is told.
———"But is the story old?"
(Though they were dark and it was gold.)
That she was sweet is all I care
To tell you—till the rest is told.
———"But is the story old?"
Hush. She was sweet———Why do I cry?
Because—her mother loved her so.
I told you that she did not die;
But she is gone. "Where did she go?
Ah me,—I do not know.
Because—her mother loved her so.
I told you that she did not die;
But she is gone. "Where did she go?
Ah me,—I do not know.
"How old was she when she was sweet?"
Why, one year old, or two, or three.
Here is her shoe—what little feet!
And yet they walked away, you see.
(I must not say, from me.)
Why, one year old, or two, or three.
Here is her shoe—what little feet!
And yet they walked away, you see.
(I must not say, from me.)
"Did Gypsies take her?" Surely, no.
But—something took her; she is lost:
No track of hers in dew or snow,
But—something took her; she is lost:
No track of hers in dew or snow,
