A REVERIE.
You may speak of a grave in a distant land, Or of one 'neath ocean's foam, Where the dolphins play o'er the sunny spray, Far from the dear old home; Where the coral peaks form a glorious tomb, And the mighty waters lave, But there is naught in the wide world sought Like the heart's deep anguished grave.
You may tell of a grave 'neath the burning sands Of the tropics fevered zone; Where silence reigns o'er the desert plains So desolate, so forlorn. Where the lion's roar is the liveliest sound That o'er that waste is heard— And the forest bird hymns a plaintive lay, A requiem for the dead.
Again you may tell of a grave unsought Far from the home of youth; Where the willow weeps as the exile sleeps Akin to Mother Earth.