The Woe of It

Sweet was the mavis' song of eld,
And how the woodlands thrilled with it!
Sweeter the song of the girl I held
Close to the heart that filled with it.

Methinks the rose leant from the wall
To kiss the lily brow of hers;
And through the years I can recall
The softly whispered vow of hers.

We saw the evening fade afar,
And parting, never met again;
And ere we meet, how many a star
Shall rise again and set again.

The mavis' song but brings regret,
The fading rose must know of it:
For she is gone — I can't forget,
And — ah! the bitter woe of it!
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