Saturday, December 1, 2007

Night And Morning

A tender thought for the days that have been,
A recreant sigh,
Tipped with the gold dust of romance, I wean,
Howewards willfly.
Now evening wakes to bless
With starry night’s caress,
My memories softly press
Tears to my eye.
A brighter thought for the dsyd yet to be
As yet unborn,
A lilting song for my meeting with thee,
Dear love forlorn.
Peace all my longing fills,
I dry my tears. Now thrills
Soft O’er the distant hills
First rays of morn.

December 6, 1915

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