Stephen Foster, 1851

Why has thy merry face,
Gone from my side,
Leaving each cherished place
Cheerless and void?

Why has the happy dream,
Blended with thee,
Passed like a flitting beam,
Sweet Laura Lee?

2. Far from all pleasure torn,
Sad and alone,
How doth my spirit mourn
While thou art gone!

How like a desert isle,
Earth seems to me,
Robbed of thy sunny smile,
Sweet Laura Lee?
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