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seaside.
For your poor, famished lives of ostentation,
What victims bleed of which you never recked!
The yearning heart of love—the aspiration
Which makes us royal, the sweet self-respect.
What victims bleed of which you never recked!
The yearning heart of love—the aspiration
Which makes us royal, the sweet self-respect.
But ah! I know the lonely hour will find you
Sincere once more; to-night doth sadness wait
To fold you in her purple, and remind you
Of your dead strength, your regal, lost estate.
Sincere once more; to-night doth sadness wait
To fold you in her purple, and remind you
Of your dead strength, your regal, lost estate.
