Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/266



bloom bath fled thy cheek, Mary, As spring's rath blossoms die, And sadness hath o'ershadowed quite Thy once bright eye; But, look on me, the prints of grief Still deeper lie. Farewell!

Thy lips are pale and mute, Alary, Thy step is sad and slow, The mom of gladness hath gone by Thou erst didst know; I, too, am changed like thee, and weep For very woe. Farewell!

It seems as 'twere but yesterday We were the happiest twain,