II.

My life's brief spring went wasted by,--

My summer ended fruitlessly;

I learned to hunger, strive, and wait,--

I found you, love,--oh, happy fate!--

So late, so late!

Now all my fields are turning brown,--

So, darling, kiss my eyelids down!

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 92, June, 1865 A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics · 第 29 / 65 题