  Looking in thine eyes of azure, Looking on thy hair of gold, Once I wished, Evangelina, That there were no growing old. For I thought of how thy sweet eyes Would grow dim with tears and care; How the years would turn to silver All thy wealth of golden hair. How the lines of life would gather O'er the face so placid now; Traces of its toil and struggle Touching lip and cheek and brow. This I thought, and wished the shadows Wished there were no time but spring-time, Were no evening of the day. Now I fear, Evangelina, That my wish was half a prayer, That the listening Father heard me, That thou liest, an answer, there. For thou liest in thy beauty,— Eyes of blue and hair of gold, Lip and cheek and brow of marble, Folded fingers, still and cold;— O my angel, God hath called thee Where there is no growing old. |
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