Weep, Emeline, Weep

Weep, Emeline, Weep

Weep, Emeline, weep,
And no tongue shall reprove thee;
Weep, Emeline, weep
For the friends that did live thee.

The flowers in the light
Of the sunshine are blooming;
But the checks that were bright,
In the grave are consuming.

The birds on the trees
Sing as sweetly as ever,
But the lips that could please,
Shall give joy to thee never.

The morning may break
O'er the valley in gladness,
But the eyes cannot wake
That dispelled all thy sadness.

The evening may come
But its fall shall endear not;
For the steps that came home
In the dusk thou shalt hear not.

Weep, Emeline, weep,
And no tongue shall reprove thee;
Weep; Emeline, weep,
For the friends that did love thee.

Unattributed

1:34, p. 136

1827.11.02