William Pinkney Ewing

1828-1898 / USA

Alone

Never, no nevermore,
Shall thy soft hand be pressed in mine,
Or on my breast thy weary head recline,
As oft of yore.

And though thou wert to me
Life's only charm, I yet can bear
A little while, since thou art free from care,
Alone to be.

For to my heart is given,
The cheering hope, that soon, where pain
And partings are unknown, we'll meet again-
In yonder heaven.
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