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?