LAURA LEE
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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