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The Bloom Hath Fled Thy Cheek, Mary.
The bloom bath fled thy cheek, Mary,
As spring's rath blossoms die,
And sadness hath o'ershadowed quite
Thy once bright eye;
But, look on me, the prints of grief
Still deeper lie.
Farewell!
Thy lips are pale and mute, Alary,
Thy step is sad and slow,
The mom of gladness hath gone by
Thou erst didst know;
I, too, am changed like thee, and weep
For very woe.
Farewell!
It seems as 'twere but yesterday
We were the happiest twain,
