LINOLEE.
Reading edition
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BY JOHN WILFORD OVERALL.
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She always seemed, I know not why,
Too beautiful and bright,
For aught but yon pure golden sky,
And heaven’s fairest light.
Oh! one would think, to see her smile,
She was a sinless thing,
And slept the night, nay, all the while,
Beneath an angel’s wing.
The sky bent down to kiss the hill,
That girt her cottage home,
And laughingly the silver rill
Stole through the leafy loam;
And Tempe, with its dreamy vale,
Its sunny stream and grot,
And balmy flower-scented gale,
Was ne’er a sweeter spot.
Here first she taught me how to love,
And dream of woman’s eyes;
Here first I turned from things above,
To passion’s paradise.
There came an hour when we should part—
How dark that hour to me—
She dwells a picture in my heart,
My lost, loved Linolee.
We laid her in a summer tomb,
And wept that spirit fled,
Where honeysuckle blossoms bloom,
The lily hangs its head;
And at the midnight’s dreary hour,
They watch by that sweet earth,
And weep for her, a sister flower,
Who loved them from their birth.