| The years creep slowly by, lorena
|
| The snow is on the grass again
|
| The sun’s low down the sky, lorena
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| The frost gleams where the flowers have been
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| But my heart beats on as warmly now
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| As when the summer days were nigh
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| The sun can never dip so low
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| Or down affections cloudless sky
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| A hundred months have passed, lorena
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| Since last I held that hand in mine
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| And felt the pulse beat fast, lorena
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| Though mine beat faster far than thine
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| A hundred months, 'twas flowery may
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| When up the hilly slope we climbed
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| To watch the dying of the day
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| And hear the distant church bells chime
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| We loved each other then, lorena
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| More than we ever dared to tell
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| And what we might have been, lorena
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| Had but our lovings prospered well
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| But then, 'tis past, the years are gone
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| I’ll not call up their shadowy forms
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| I’ll say to them, «lost years, sleep on!
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| Sleep on! |
| nor heed life’s pelting storms
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| The story of that past, lorena
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| Alas! |
| I care not to repeat
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| The hopes that could not last, lorena
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| They lived, but only lived to cheat
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| I would not cause e’en one regret
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| To rankle in your bosom now
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| For «if we try, we may forget
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| Were words of thine long years ago
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| Yes, these were words of thine, lorena
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| They burn within my memory yet
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| They touched some tender chords, lorena
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| Which thrill and tremble with regret
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| 'twas not thy woman’s heart that spoke
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| Thy heart was always true to me
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| A duty, stern and pressing, broke
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| The tie which linked my soul with thee
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| It matters little now, lorena
|
| The past is in the eternal past
|
| Our heads will soon lie low, lorena
|
| Life’s tide is ebbing out so fast
|
| There is a future! |
| o, thank god!
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| Of life this is so small a part!
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| It is dust to dust beneath the sod
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| But there, up there, it is heart to heart |