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TO
MARY
The
sky low down in distant West, is tinged with golden hue,
While all the glorious vault above is one bright mass of blue.
Now as I still gaze in the West, my favorite star I see,
A diamond bright, queen of the night, the evening star for me.
Some love the warlike star of Mars: he pleaseth not my eyes;
Some say that Jupiter is bright: his looks I little prize;
The morning star is passing fair, but still I love it not;
For none to me shines lovingly, as Venus on my cot.
Now the pale moon, as if in love, is sending from the sky
Her tender beams upon the field, where, Mary, you and I
So oft have stood at close of day, and talked our little cares-
Love, children, cooks, our thoughts of books, our prospects, hopes and
fears.
Now standing out in bold relief, I see your cottage white;
The once green trees are bare of leaves, they fell at winter's blight.
All is so still! No light is there, I know you are at rest;
May slumber's light be yours this night-may you be ever blest.
Soon, very soon, for aught we know, our pathway may divide;
But, Mary, will you think of me, when I'm not by your side?
And oh! look on, with pitying eye, in distant, distant years;
My virtues few, my friendship true, and o'er my faults shed tears.
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