Page:Records of Woman.pdf/114

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My shadow comes not o'er his path, my whisper to his dream, He flings away the broken reed—roll swifter yet, thou stream!

The voice that spoke of other days is hush'd within his breast, But mine its lonely music haunts, and will not let me rest; It sings a low and mournful song of gladness that is gone, I cannot live without that light—Father of waves! roll on!

Will he not miss the bounding step that met him from the chase? The heart of love that made his home an ever sunny place?