A. Lost Lover.
He kissed me, oh, how often ! in the happy days of yore. He'd kiss until I'd quite refuse to let him kiss me more. And looking back through weary years, those blissful moments seem Like some glad, golden chapter from a fairy s flossy dream. Alas ! The sweetest joys are ever shortest in their stay, And all unkissed remain the lips he used to press, today ; I do not feel his soft moustache upon my cheek and brow. ' W lien did he die ? He isn't dead ; but is my husband now. '
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TO18910131.2.31.2
Bibliographic details
Observer, Volume X, Issue 604, 31 January 1891, Page 12
Word Count
94A. Lost Lover. Observer, Volume X, Issue 604, 31 January 1891, Page 12
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