Sparkle of snow and of frost,
Blythe air and the joy of cold,
Their grace and good they have lost,
As print o’ her foot by the fold.
Let me back to yon desert sand,
Rose-lipped love — from the fold,
Flower-fair girl — from the fold,
Let me back to the sultry land.
The world is empty of cheer,
Forlorn, forlorn, and forlorn,
As the night-owl's sob of fear,
As Memnon moaning at morn.
For love of thee, my dear,
I have lived a better man,
O my Mary Anne,
My Mary Anne.
Away, away, and away,
To an old palm-land of tombs,
Washed clear of our yesterday
And where never a snowdrop blooms,
Nor wild becks talk as they go
Of tender hope we had known,
Nor mosses of memory grow
All over the wayside stone.
Farewell, farewell, and farewell,
As voice of a lover's sigh
In the wind let yon willow wave
‘ Farewell, farewell, and farewell.’
The sparkling frost-stars brave
On thy shrouded bosom lie;
Thou art gone apart to dwell,
But I fain would have said good-bye.
For love of thee in thy grave
I have lived a better man,
O my Mary Anne,
My Mary Anne.
Mrs. Thorpe ( aside ). O hearts! why, what a song!
To think on it, and he a married man!