Can make me forget, nor still the wild fret

In my heart for the place I call home.

The valleys like Eden are misty and deep:

They are washed with the dews of the morn.

They but serve to depress me and make me a prey

To longings both sad and forlorn.

The lilt of the trees and the song of the birds

Once so cheery have sobered their tone,

For my heartstrings are tied, to a little fireside

In a place that I love to call home.

{81}

To Love

THO’ I am slow of speech, it matters not,

T

For this I know you feel and understand.

Tho’ break I at your nearness, yet I draw apart,

With wonder at the touches of your hand.

Your eager eyes, so near my drooping lids

Appraise my flushes, and you understand

How fain I am to go, yet do draw near,

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