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Excerpt from To You, Dear Heart, to You: Told When the Heart Is Sad My heart is sad, my soul seems dead, As I sit in the twilight alone; My tired hands caress the bowl And incense fills the room. The petals within are withered and dead: They tell me of joys that are done; They tell of a heart that is weary and spent, Of a life race nearly run. I can see again an old-fashioned rose, Whose petals lie there 'mid the rest. 'twas given to me long years ago By a woman, 'mong others, the best 'twas years ago, but my memory Paints clearly that picture tonight. I'd give my all - my future years To again drink in that sight. The old-fashioned garden, the head bending low, To pluck the red rose from its stem; The tired old hands, the silver-gray locks, Her smile like the Savior of men. Oh My heart is sad, my soul seems dead; Would that I were a child again. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
Excerpt from To You, Dear Heart, to You: Told When the Heart Is Sad My heart is sad, my soul seems dead, As I sit in the twilight alone; My tired hands caress the bowl And incense fills the room. The petals within are withered and dead: They tell me of joys that are done; They tell of a heart that is weary and spent, Of a life race nearly run. I can see again an old-fashioned rose, Whose petals lie there 'mid the rest. 'twas given to me long years ago By a woman, 'mong others, the best 'twas years ago, but my memory Paints clearly that picture tonight. I'd give my all - my future years To again drink in that sight. The old-fashioned garden, the head bending low, To pluck the red rose from its stem; The tired old hands, the silver-gray locks, Her smile like the Savior of men. Oh My heart is sad, my soul seems dead; Would that I were a child again. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
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