YOUNG BENSON'S SONG
My fair home is no longer mine;
From its roof-tree I'm driven away.
Alas! who will tend the old vine,
Which I planted in infancy's day!
The garden, the beautiful flowers,
The oak with its branches on high,
Dear friends of my happiest hours,
Among thee I long hoped to die.
The briar, the moss, and the bramble,
Along the green paths will run wild:
The paths where I once used to ramble,
An innocent, light-hearted child.
No comments:
Post a Comment