Classic Poem

He carved his name upon the tree,
Ere he hied him o'er the billow,
A token of love and memory
On that lone drooping willow;
And bade me come at twilight dim,
In summer's fragrant weather,
Beneath its shade to think of him,
And the joys we'd known together.

Ah! little did we think, when last
We met in sad emotion,
That he'd find his fate on the blast,
His grave in the depths of ocean:
And many a lonely year has fled,
Since sadly here we parted,
And the willow tree is sear and dead,
And I am broken-hearted.