Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/139

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stranger's heart! Oh! wound it not! A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of thy tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee.

Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves Glad music round thy household eaves; To him that sound hath sorrow's tone— The stranger's heart is with his own.

Thou think'st thy children's laughing play A lovely sight at fall of day;— Then are the stranger's thoughts oppress'd— His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.