St. Lawrence and the Saguenay, The - Part 1
THERE is but one to whom my hopes are clinging,
As clings the bee unto the morning flower,
There is but one to whom my thoughts are winging
Their dove-like passage through each silent hour:
One who has made my heart her summer bower.
Feeling and passion there forever bloom
For her, who, by her love's mysterious power,
Dispels the languor of my spirit's gloom,
And lifts my dead heart up, like Lazarus from the tomb.
As clings the bee unto the morning flower,
There is but one to whom my thoughts are winging
Their dove-like passage through each silent hour:
One who has made my heart her summer bower.
Feeling and passion there forever bloom
For her, who, by her love's mysterious power,
Dispels the languor of my spirit's gloom,
And lifts my dead heart up, like Lazarus from the tomb.
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