I
sleep with thee and wake with thee
And yet thou art not there,
I fill my arms with
thoughts of thee
And press the common air.
Thy
eyes are gazing upon mine
When thou art out of sight,
My lips are always
touching thine
At morning, noon, and
night.
I
think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's
breast.
I
hide it from the world's wide eye
And think and speak
contrary,
But soft the wind comes
from the sky
And whispers tales of
Mary.
The
night wind whispers in my ear,
The moon shines on my face,
The burden still of
chilling fear
I find in every place.
The
breeze is whispering in the bush,
The leaves fall from the
tree,
All sighing on and will
not hush,
Some pleasant tales of
thee.
