Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-" It was surely October ΤΟ On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, то I HEED not that my earthly lot Hath-little of Earth in' it That years of love have been forgot I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, TO MY MOTHER. ECAUSE I feel that, in the heavens above, None so devotional as that of "Mother," And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you My mother-my own mother, who died early, Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. |