WITH THEE.
Reading edition
———
BY MRS. C. H. W. ESLING.
———
With thee, at dewy morn where e’er I wander,
Are my fond thoughts—still close to thee they cling;
O’er each departed hour they love to ponder,
That, pass’d with thee, seem’d like the hours of spring.
Yes—every vanish’d joy is like a treasure
Glean’d from the mighty casket of the past,
Dearer than low-breathed music’s echoed measure,
When its soft spell around our souls is cast.
With thee at noon, when summer winds are stealing
Thro’ the green leaves in harp-tones rich and sweet,
On the bright sward in lowly homage kneeling,
With thee my prayers—my prayers of fondness meet.
What tho’ mine eye thro’ dreary distance faileth
In its deep search to hail thy welcome form?
What tho’ my cheek thro’ long, long watching fadeth,
And my sad heart leaps not so freshly warm?
Still unto thee no eyes beam brighter lustre,
No vermeil cheeks thy early love’s outshine;
Around no heart do richer feelings cluster,
Than swell in that which is so wholly thine.
Why do I mourn that mountain billows sever?
Vain may they strive our spirits to divide,
For am I not, mine own one, with thee ever?
E’en as thou art forever at my side.