They open,--O they see me then!
And straightway close again.

"Here's your papa, my precious one;--
A penny for you!"--ah!
A dream still moves the baby-lips:
"O, where is my papa!"

And I--I think in bitterness
And disappointment sore;
"Some day you will awake, my child,
To find me nevermore."




The Nightingale to the Workman


Fair summer is here, glad summer is here!
O hark! 'tis to you I am singing:
The sun is all gold in a heaven of blue,
The birds in the forest are trilling for you,
The flies 'mid the grasses are winging;
The little brook babbles--its secret is sweet.
The loveliest flowers would circle your feet,--
And you to your work ever clinging!...
Come forth! Nature loves you. Come forth! Do not fear!
Fair summer is here, glad summer is here,
Full measure of happiness bringing.