Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
X. The Pity of It
Casa Wappy
By David Macbeth Moir (1798–1851)
 
AND hast thou sought thy heavenly home,
          Our fond, dear boy—
The realms where sorrow dare not come,
          Where life is joy?
Pure at thy death, as at thy birth,        5
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth,
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth,
                    Casa Wappy!…
 
Do what I may, go where I will,
          Thou meet’st my sight;        10
There dost thou glide before me still—
          A form of light!
I feel thy breath upon my cheek,
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak,
Till oh! my heart is like to break,        15
                    Casa Wappy!…
 
We mourn for thee, when blind blank night
          The chamber fills;
We pine for thee, when morn’s first light
          Reddens the hills;        20
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea,
All—to the wallflower and wild-pea—
Are changed: we saw the world thro’ thee,
                    Casa Wappy!…
 
 
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