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To My Wife

To My Wife image
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[The following delightful stanzas, written some ycars ago by Joseph Brannan, a New Orleans journalist, to his absent wifc have seldom or never been surpósed in beauty. They deserve to be frequintly reprinted] Come to me dearest ; I'm lonely without thee - Day-time and night-timc lm thinking about thee; Night-time and day-time in dreams I behold thee, Unwelcome the waking that ctrases to fold thee. Come to me darliny, my sorrows to lichten ; Come in thy beauty, to bless and to bnghten ; Come in thy womanhood, tneekly and lowly ; Come in thy lovlngncss, q úeen) y and holyt Swallows will Hit round the desolate ruin Telling oi spring, and lts joyous renewing; And thoughts of thy love and its mini fold treasure, Are . i reling my heirt wtth a promise of pleasure. OJi, spring of my fortune ' Oh, May of my botom ! Shine out on my soul UU it bourgeon and blossom! The waste of my lile hath a root within It, And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. Kigure that moves like a song1 thrmigh the even - Features lit up by a reflex of Heaven - Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple - Opening their eyes froin the hcart of a díuiple - On, thanks to the Saviour, that even thcir seemin Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming ! You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened ; Dear, are you sad now, to hear 1 am saddened? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love. I can not weep, but your tears will be flowingYou can not smile, but my cheek will be glowing. 1 wouid not die without you at my side, love; You will not linger when I shall have dicd, love. Come to me, dear, ere I die in my soitow f Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow ! Strong, swilt and fond as the words which I t ¦ Klove, With a song on your lip, and a smile on your cheek loyp. Come, for my heart n your absence is dreary; liaste for my spirit is sickened and weary. Come to the arms that alone should caress thee - Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee 1


Ann Arbor Courier
Old News