The Old Arm Chair

The Old Arm Chair.
217.3

Not Readable

Not Readable

I sat and watch’d her many a day
When her eyes grew dim, and her locka were grayi
And I almost worship’d har when the smilef
And turn’d from her utble to hiras her child.
Years roll’d on, but the last one sped- My idol was shatter’d, my earth-star fled;
I learnt how much the heart can bear.
When I saw her die in that old armchair.

‘Tis past! ‘tin past! but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow!
“Twas there she nursed me, ’twas there she died;
And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak.
While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it. I love it, and can not tear
My soul from my mother’s old armchair.