If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know; And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine— Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun For ever and for ever with those just souls and true And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home— And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come To be within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Tennyson. SONG. A spirit haunts the year's last hours For at eventide, listening earnestly, Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. The air is damp, and hushed, and close, My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. Tennyson. THE DESERTED HOUSE. Life and Thought have gone away Leaving door and windows wide; Careless tenants they ! All within is dark as night: Close the door, the shutters close, Or through the windows we shall see Of the dark deserted house. Come away, no more of mirth Is here, or merry-making sound. Come away for Life and Thought But in a city glorious A great and distant city-have bought Would they could have stayed with us! Tennyson. DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And tread softly and speak low, Old year, you must not die ; He lieth still; he doth not move : He will not see the dawn of day. . He gave me a friend, and a true, true-love, So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, He was full of joke and jest, Every one for his own, The night is starry and cold, my friend, How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die; Old year, we'll dearly rue for you ; Speak out before you die. |