Err. SATURDAY AUGUST Is, 1916.

From the Richmo nd Whig.
SOYIG TO-
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do not ask to offer
To thee a hear; like mine,
! may not hope 10 cherish
A peerless one like thine
And though my heart is bursting
With tenderness for thee,
L know thou'st never given
One single sigh for mel
I feel that | have wasted
10 vain, vain dreams away
The starry hours of evening
And the sunny smiles of day
| would that could waken
From the mocking dream of bliss,
But too bitter is the passing
To the dreariness of this
| dare not ask to love thee,
gaze on thee no more,
AS my glance used TO seek thee
In the happy days of yore.
But sweet one thou shall never
Even guess the love | feel.
For the silence of my chilled heart
It's depth shall e'er conceal!
would have thee ever think me
A fond, devoted friend
No more ill life is fitting
And my lonely hours shall end;
And then hope that sometimes
Thou wilt mourn for my sad lot,
Alas all can ask for
Is not to be forgou