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| THOU art lost to me forever!—I have lost thee, Isadore! | |
| Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more; | |
| Thy tender eyes will never more look fondly into mine, | |
| Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly entwine,— | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 5 |
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| Thou art dead and gone, dear loving wife, thy heart is still and cold, | |
| And mine, benumbed with wretchedness, is prematurely old: | |
| Of our whole world of love and joy thou wast the only light,— | |
| A star, whose setting left behind, ah me! how dark a night!— | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 10 |
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| The vines and flowers we planted, Love, I tend with anxious care, | |
| And yet they droop and fade away, as though they wanted air: | |
| They cannot live without thine eyes to feed them with their light; | |
| Since thy hands ceased to train them, Love, they cannot grow aright;— | |
| Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! | 15 |
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| Our little ones inquire of me, where is their mother gone:— | |
| What answer can I make to them, except with tears alone? | |
| For if I say “To Heaven,” then the poor things wish to learn | |
| How far it is, and where, and when their mother will return;— | |
| Thou art lost to them forever, Isadore! | 20 |
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| Our happy home has now become a lonely, silent place; | |
| Like Heaven without its stars it is, without thy blessed face: | |
| Our little ones are still and sad;—none love them now but I, | |
| Except their mother’s spirit, which I feel is always nigh;— | |
| Thou lovest us in Heaven, Isadore! | 25 |
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| Their merry laugh is heard no more, they neither run nor play, | |
| But wander round like little ghosts, the long, long summer-day: | |
| The spider weaves his web across the windows at his will, | |
| The flowers I gathered for thee last are on the mantel still;— | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 30 |
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| Restless I pace our lonely rooms, I play our songs no more, | |
| The garish sun shines flauntingly upon the unswept floor; | |
| The mocking-bird still sits and sings, O melancholy strain! | |
| For my heart is like an autumn cloud that overflows with rain; | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 35 |
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| Alas! how changed is all, dear wife, from that sweet eve in spring, | |
| When first my love for thee was told, and thou to me didst cling, | |
| Thy sweet eyes radiant through their tears, pressing thy lips to mine, | |
| In our old arbor, Dear, beneath the over-arching vine;— | |
| Those lips are cold forever, Isadore! | 40 |
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| The moonlight struggled through the leaves, and fell upon thy face, | |
| So livingly upturning there, with pure and trustful gaze; | |
| The southern breezes murmured through the dark cloud of thy hair, | |
| As like a happy child thou didst in my arms nestle there;— | |
| Death holds thee now forever, Isadore! | 45 |
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| Thy love and faith so plighted then, with mingled smile and tear, | |
| Was never broken, Darling, while we dwelt together here: | |
| Nor bitter word, nor dark, cold look thou ever gavest me— | |
| Loving and trusting always, as I loved and worshipped thee;— | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 50 |
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| Thou wast my nurse in sickness, and my comforter in health, | |
| So gentle and so constant, when our love was all our wealth: | |
| Thy voice of music cheered me, Love, in each despondent hour, | |
| As Heaven’s sweet honey-dew consoles the bruised and broken flower;— | |
| Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore! | 55 |
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| Thou art gone from me forever;—I have lost thee, Isadore! | |
| And desolate and lonely I shall be forever more: | |
| Our children hold me, Darling, or I to God should pray | |
| To let me cast the burthen of this long, dark life away, | |
| And see thy face in Heaven, Isadore! | 60 |
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