ONCE for thy brow a wreath I wished to wind,
And, seeking long, I could no flowers find.
Now golden flowers are blooming far and near,
But, ah! dear love, thou art no longer here.
More verses by Alice Duer Miller
- Forsaking All Others Part 1
- Forsaking All Others Part 3
- An Exhortation To Gentleness
- The Way
- A Dialouge