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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

Marion Moore

By James Gowdy Clark (1830–1897)

[Born in Constantia, N. Y., 1830. Died in Pasadena, Cal., 1897. Poetry and Song. 1886.]

GONE art thou, Marion, Marion Moore,—

Gone like the bird in the autumn that singeth,

Gone like the flower by the wayside that springeth,

Gone like the leaf of the ivy that clingeth

Round the lone rock on a storm-beaten shore.

Dear wert thou, Marion, Marion Moore,—

Dear as the tide in my broken heart throbbing;

Dear as the soul o’er thy memory sobbing.

Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing,

Wasting is all the glad beauty of yore.

I will remember thee, Marion Moore,—

I shall remember, alas, to regret thee;

I will regret when all others forget thee;

Deep in my breast will the hour that I met thee

Linger and burn till life’s fever is o’er.

Gone art thou, Marion, Marion Moore,—

Gone like the breeze o’er the billow that bloweth,

Gone as the rill to the ocean that floweth,

Gone as the day from the gray mountain goeth,

Darkness behind thee, but glory before.

Peace to thee, Marion, Marion Moore,—

Peace which the queens of the earth cannot borrow,

Peace from a kingdom that crowned thee with sorrow:

Oh! to be happy with thee on the morrow,

Who would not fly from this desolate shore?