George Pope Morris Poems

Let not a tear be shed!
Of grief give not a token,
Although the silver thread
And golden bowl be broken!
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In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing water,
Two lovers reclined in the shade of a tree;
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I never have been false to thee!--
The heart I gave thee still is thine;
Though thou hast been untrue to me,
And I no more may call thee mine!
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John was thought both rich and great--
Dick so-so, but comfortable:
John lived at a splendid rate--
Coach and horses in his stable.
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The music's done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie!
Your bell and whistle put me in a fury!
Don't ring up yet, sir--I've a word to say
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Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite--
To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!--
I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie!
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What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight!
What scene of splendor--conjured here to-night!
What voices murmur, and what glances gleam!
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Love left one day his leafy bower,
And roamed in sportive vein,
Where Vanity had built a tower,
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When life looks drear and lonely, love,
And pleasant fancies flee,
Then will the Muses only, love,
Bestow a thought on me!
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Pull away merrily--over the waters!
Bend to your oars for the wood-tangled shore;
We're off and afloat with earth's loveliest daughters,
...