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BY MRS. WILLIAM KING.
(All !• tter« to this department and The Young Folks' column must be addressed
to Mrs. Wili am King. ISO Courtland avenue, Atlanta, Ga.)
t— “ ’■ " ~ ~ -
It Might Have Bern.
A withered leaf, a s’lken thread,
Some grasses frail and sere.
Are lying desolate and dead
On latve’s fantastic bier.
But yet a ceaseless sent? they sing
Os cruel, hopeless pain:
For. in the sweetest thought they bring,
I hear the sad zefraiu:
••It might have been!”
\
A rnv that dropped from finders fair,
A ring wiih rubies set,
A litt’e tress of golden hair
W.th tears of sorrow wet.
Her heart was light, so mine alone
Hath learned to love and grieve;
And so, thr ugh life’s dull monotone.
The golden tress doth weave—
•’lt might have been!”
The boat lies idly at my feet.
The «ky is blue above.
The sunlit wax-s make music sweet.
And all is fair but Love;
For in the cup that memory takes
I taste again the lees.
And one long, silent chord awakes
And wbisjw rs l<> the breese—
*Tt might have been!”
The fondest love the heart has missed
May ow again some day.
Th nigh ey- that wept and lips we’ve kissed
Have coldly turned away;
But In the love that lives apart
Through waste of weary years,
A voice will haunt the aching heart.
And murmur in its tears—
“lt might have been?
—Montreal Star.
