A poem by Nora Pembroke

(To Miss E E.)

I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast,
Yet weeping is unnatural to me;
Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past--
The parting hour with all I love and thee

If I had never met or loved thee so,
To part would not have caused me this sharp pain;
Parting so oft occurring here below,
And they who part so seldom meet again.

Yet over land or sea, where'er I go,
My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes--
And oft I anxiously shall wish to know,
If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise.

Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee,
Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven;
I will not bid thee to remember me,
But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven.


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