What can I tell you, son of mine? I could tell you of heartbreak, hatred blind, I could tell of crimes that shame mankind, Of brutal wrong and deeds malign, Of rape and murder, son of mine; But I'll tell instead of brave and fine When lives of black and white entwine, And men in brotherhood combine This would I tell you, son of mine.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charmsWhich I gaze on so fondly to-day,Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms,Like fairy gifts fading away.Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art,Let thy loveliness fade as it will,And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart,Would entwine itself verdantly still.thomas moore
And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, This spray of Western pine!1870 On the death of Charles Dickens.'Dickens in Camp', stanza10.
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