THEY are not tears of sorrowing, Then, dearest, chide me not! I weep with very thankfulness, For this, my blessed lot. I think me of the rose-hued past, And tears will fall like rain; I turn me to my present bliss, And forth they gush again. The past, the sunny past was like A glorious dream to me, The earth was as a fairy land, And fairy creatures we. The hours went by as angels would When forced from heaven to roam; Each gave a blessing as it past, And hasten'd to its home. The memories of those vanish'd hours Throng round me like a spell, And charm these drops of tenderness Up from their secret cell. Yet, love, I would not barter now The luxury of these tears, For all the joys that woo my thoughts Back to those by-gone years! For though my heart, blithe as a bird, From flower to flower would rove, It had not known thy tenderness, It had not felt thy love! |