Poem by George Pope Morris

Twenty Years Ago

'Twas in the flush of summer-time,
  Some twenty years or more,
When Ernest lost his way, and crossed
  The threshold of our door.
I'll ne'er forget his locks of jet,
  His brow of Alpine snow,
His manly grace of form and face,
  Some twenty years ago.

The hand he asked I freely gave—
  Mine was a happy lot,
In all my pride to be his bride
  Within my father's cot.
The faith he spoke he never broke:
  His faithful heart I know;
And well I vow I love him now
  As twenty years ago.

1. National Anthem
2. Silent Grief
3. Lines on a Poet
4. The Miniature
5. Love Thee, Dearest!

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