Foreword
(to j. d.)
When I die, all alone,
I shall look at last
For thy tender face, my own,
Thy face, beloved.
So far removed
From all our happy past . . .
Nay, all day, all day long
Still thou lingerest here . . .
Halting in its muffled song.
Thy voice, unaltered.
Still murmurs, faltered.
The old words still as dear.
Thou art dead, years ago.
Dead and in the grave ;
I am all alone, I know . . .
And yet how often
Thy kind eyes soften,
And smile and guide and save!
Smilest thou, angel-ghost? . . .
Yet, no heavens ope!
All thou art I had, and lost;
And now remember
O'er life's dull ember
Nor call my dream a hope.
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