344 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF 



That gracioun brow iinil kindling cheek 

 Were cold as sculptured stone ; 



Those eyes were closed, that once had beamf 

 As bright as ever shone. 



Yes ; cold the cheek, and cold the brow ; 



The eye was fixed and dim ; 

 A husband mourned a loving wife. 



Who'd lived alone for him. 



I knew not if 'twas summer then, 

 I knew not when 'twas spring; 



And if the birds sang in the trees, 

 I did not hear them sing. 



If flowers came forth to deck the earth, 



Their l)loom I did not see ; 

 I thought but on one withered flower, 



The last that bloomed for me. 



A sad and solemn time it was 



Within that house of woe; 

 All eyes were dim, all hearts cast dowri. 



And every voice was low. 



Softly we trod, as if afraid 

 To break that tranquil sleep; 



And took last looks at her pale face, 

 Remembrance long to keep. 



And when, at last, she was borne afar 

 From this world's weary strife, 



Often in thought I lived again 

 With that kind and loving wife. 



Her every look, her every word. 



Her varied voice's tone, 

 Came back to me, like things of worthy 



Most truly prized when gone. 



Our sweetest hours glide swiftly by, 

 And leave the faintest trace ; 



But that deep mark that sorrow wears 

 No time can e'er efface. 



