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Samuel Alfred Beadle

(1857-1932 / the USA)

Afterward


I'm all alone in the world, now,
My bonnie love has flown;
My heart's an empty void, now,
Where the wreck of joy is strown;
For o'er her grave, the tombs between,
The grass is growing green.


I'm sad tonight! I did not know
How dear she was to me;
How fervent was her passion's glow,
Her love's sincerity;
Till o'er her grave, the tombs between,
The grass was growing green.


I would I could see her face again,
That furrowed face of care,
That I might woo away the pain
My coldness chiseled there;
And lie for her the tombs between,
Where the grass is growing green.


I somehow feel, since she has gone,
That negligence is crime:
That I am guilty of this wrong
To my eyelids brings the brine:
Since she lies cold the tombs between,
Where the grass is growing green.

Submitted: Saturday, September 18, 2010
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