Why do still I recall, why can’t
it be forgot;
this is a humbling fall, a most
bereaving lot.
I know of chilling cold that
solitude may bring,
but ‘twas not ever told, how flick’ring embers
sting.
How soon you do forget, how
painless walking on
from where we’ve early met, where
love so dearly won
began to make its claim on ev’ry
little part—
too early given aim to vent from
loving heart.
What then, shall I profess, when
waiting long is spent
and time has helped redress,
forgive myself, repent?
With only lonesome eyes could
greeting be bestowed—
a wish that ‘twas a lie, or truth
we’ve never known.
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