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Lorena

 

The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The snow is on the grass again;
The sun’s low down the sky Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flowers have been;
But the heart throbs on as lovely now,
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh, the sun can never dip so low,
Adown affection’s cloudless sky.

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A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held your hand in mine,
And felt that pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine;
A hundred months — ’twas flow’ry May,
When up the hilly slopes we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant church bells chimed.

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We loved each other then, Lorena,
More than we ever dared to tell,
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our loving prospered well —
But then, ’tis past, the years are gone,
I’ll not call up their shadowy forms;
I’ll say to them, “Lost years, sleep on,
Sleep on, nor heed life’s pelting storms.”

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The story of the past, Lorena,
Alas, I care not to repeat,
The hopes that could not last, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat;
I would not cause e’en one regret,
To rankle in your bosom now;
For “if we try, we may forget,”
Were words of thine long years ago.

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Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena,
They burn within my memory yet;
They touch some tender chords, Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret;
‘Twas not thy woman’s heart that spoke;
Thy heart was always true to me —
A duty, stern and pressing, broke
The tie which linked my soul to thee.

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It matters little now, Lorena,
The past — is in eternal past,
Our heads will soon lie down, Lorena,
Life’s tide is ebbing out so fast;
There is a future — Oh, thank God —
Of life this is so small a part,
‘Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there, up there, ’tis heart to heart.