MY sweetheart lays her hand in mine, When she would have me glad, She sings and sings, she never knows What music makes me sad. My sweetheart holds my heart to hers, When she would have me rest, She never hears the heavy sigh That breaks within my breast. Her sweet lips press my tired lids, When she would have me sleep; Alas, they have no power to stay The burning tears I weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BUILDING OF SPRINGFIELD by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY ZION, OR THE CITY OF GOD by JOHN NEWTON THE END OF THE DAY by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS WINTER: EAST ANGLIA by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A MAN'S DEBT by FRED EMERSON BROOKS IN MEMORIAM: J. MACMEIKIN; DIED APRIL 1883 by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |