Song. Metempsychosis.

When Grief comes this way by
With her wan lip and drooping eye,
Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.

Her tears soon cease to flow.
'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
From her smiling face the roses
Tell the glad metempsychosis.

Thomas Runciman

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Thomas Runciman

Sonnet.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

And there shall be no night there and they

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

The Love that speaks in word and kiss,

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

Song.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

English

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