Geraldine

The rose is sweetly blushing
And virgin lilies bloom,
While Summer-winds are bearing
Their heaven-sent perfume,
And blithe young birds are singing
Upon the beechen tree
Beneath whose shade I'm thinking,
Dear Geraldine, of thee.
The vesper bell is toiling
Its solemn, measured chime,
And nature all seems telling
Of the golden Summer time.
But the sun shines not forever
And Summer perfumes flee,
And so these musings whisper,
Dear Geraldine, of thee.
For when in Old Dunleary,
On many a Summer's eve,
We wandered through the meadows
The future's spell to weave,
My joy, my rose, my sunlight,
Lily and birdie free
Were love-bound and I dreamed for aye,
Dear Geraldine, in thee.
All s gone save mem'ry's lonely smile,
From Erin far away;
Thy glowing soul to Heaven flown,
Thy frame in churchyard clay.
While the inward hope celestial
Is all remains to me,
And a dream across the twilight,
Dear Geraldine, of thee.