by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps
My oars keep time to half a rhyme,
That slips and slides away from me.
Across my mind, like idle wind,
A lost thought beateth lazily.
Adream, afloat, my little boat
And I alone steal out to sea.
One vanished year, O Lost and Dear!
You rowed the little boat for me.
Ah, who can sing of anything
With none to listen lovingly?
Or who can time the oars to rhyme
When left to row alone to sea?
James R. Osgood And Company, Boston