" Baby is dead to earth, but is living in Paradise!
"Then mourn not, though the loved one go
Early from this world of woe;
Upon yon bright and blissful shore
You soon shall meet to part no more,
'Mid amaranthine flowers to roam,
Where sin and death can never come."
THE TREASURED RINGLET.
I AM thinking how, one April eve,
Upon the old arm-chair
I sat, and how I fondly played
With this brown lock of hair;
Your head was pillowed on my breast,
Your eyes were fixed on mine,
I knew your heart was all my own,
I know my own was thine.
The balmy breath of violets
Came floating in the room,
And mingling with the rose's sigh,
Spread round a rich perfume;
Yet sweeter was the warm breath which
I felt upon my cheek,
Than fragrance from the blushing rose,
Or from the violet meek.
Upon the oak the mocking-bird
Was singing loud and clear,
But notes more musical to me
Were falling on my ear;
For from your noble heart you poured
Love's low, yet thrilling tone,
And every word your pure soul breathed
Was answered by my own.
How like a glorious rainbow, then,
The future all appeared?
No care or sorrow then we knew,
No disappointment feared.
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