Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/111



URE it looks the same, but 'tis all different too, I spin, an’ knit, an’ sing, in the way I used to do: But the spindle pricks my finger, an’ my voice dies down, For where’s the use o’ watchin’ at the road from the town? Sunrise, sunset, Slow goes the day, 'Tis here he was, an’ I am here, An’ he is gone away.

Violets at the brookside, I smell them when I pass, But where’s the boy that picked them as we laughed along the grass? “No bluer than your two eyes.” How soon do eyes grow dim? Mine have learnt the tear-sting since last they looked on him. Sunrise, sunset, Long night and day! 'Tis here he was, an’ I am here, An’ he is gone away.