Volume Ii Part 152 (1/2)

”THE LITTLE ROSE IS DUST, MY DEAR”

The little rose is dust, my dear; The elfin wind is gone That sang a song of silver words And cooled our hearts with dawn.

And what is left to hope, my dear, Or what is left to say?

The rose, the little wind and you Have gone so far away.

Grace Hazard Conkling [18

DIRGE

Never the nightingale, Oh, my dear, Never again the lark Thou wilt hear; Though dusk and the morning still Tap at thy window-sill, Though ever love call and call Thou wilt not hear at all, My dear, my dear.

Adelaide c.r.a.psey [1878-1914]

THE LITTLE RED RIBBON

The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose!

The summertime comes, and the summertime goes-- And never a blossom in all of the land As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand!

The long winter months, and the glare of the snows; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose!

And never a glimmer of sun in the skies As bright as the light of her glorious eyes!

Dreams only are true: but they fade and are gone-- For her face is not here when I waken at dawn; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose Mine only; hers only the dream and repose.

I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, Moaning over the one only song that it knows,-- The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose!

James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916]

THE ROSARY

The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary.

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end and there A cross is hung.