Poems (Cary)/Awakening

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AWAKENING.
His hair is as white as the snow, And I am his only child—(How the wild storm beats on my chamber low—) When we parted last he smiled.
He smiled, and his hand was laid Like the summer dew on my head—(Tis a fearful night, I am half afraid,) God bless you, my child, he said.
On the meadow the mist hung low, The beauty of summer was o'er,And the winds as they went to and fro, Shook the red-rinded pears at the door.
How well I remembered it all, The brier-buds close at the pane,And the trumpet-vine tied to the wall— I never shall see them again.
I must sink to the shadowy vale— 'Tis dreary alone to go,O temper, sweet Pity, my tale, His hair is as white as the snow.
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