DIRGE.
Farewell ! Day is done ! Dove died at the set of sun ! Joy we found ; —but it is lost; And Life is weary, and tsmpest-toss’d.
Farewell ! World of Gold ! Nought of ours was bought or sold ; Hearts were given, sweet for sweet; But our summer is now in its winding-sheet.
All that God, the giver, gave. Sleep eth now in a virgin grave ; A flower above, and the mould below, And this is all that the mourners know.
Farewell ! The torches burn ; But hope, the seraph, will not return ; Love died at the set of sun, • And darkness falls, and the day is done I —Barky Cornwall.
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Bibliographic details
Evening Star, Volume III, Issue 790, 16 November 1865, Page 2
Word Count
107DIRGE. Evening Star, Volume III, Issue 790, 16 November 1865, Page 2
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