Memories

Oh, sweetest music,

Trembling to my lips

An old-time song of hers, familiar slips,

Till I remember, grieving as I must,

Her lips are dust,

Her lips are dust.

Oh, sweetest music, stirring with its beat

The heart of me, to measures sadly sweet;

But her glad heart, which once with mine did thrill,

Her heart is still,

Her heart is still.

Oh, sweetest music,

Dreaming of the morning,

I hear her softly singing in the corn,

I hear and thrill with rapture at the tone,

But wake alone,

But wake alone.