Eliza Cook. 1817- ——.
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
The Old Arm-Chair.
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When memory plays an old tune on the heart!
Old Dobbin.
[655]
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I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?
The Old Arm-Chair.
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When memory plays an old tune on the heart!
Old Dobbin.
[655]