MARGARET'S ROOM

MARGARET

(at the spinning-wheel, alone)

          My peace is gone,
          My heart is sore:
          I never shall find it,
          Ah, nevermore!

          Save I have him near.
          The grave is here;
          The world is gall
          And bitterness all.

          My poor weak head
          Is racked and crazed;
          My thought is lost,
          My senses mazed.

          My peace is gone,
          My heart is sore:
          I never shall find it,
          Ah, nevermore!

          To see him, him only,
          At the pane I sit;
          To meet him, him only,
          The house I quit.

          His lofty gait,
          His noble size,
          The smile of his mouth,
          The power of his eyes,

          And the magic flow
          Of his talk, the bliss
          In the clasp of his hand,
          And, ah! his kiss!

          My peace is gone,
          My heart is sore:
          I never shall find it,
          Ah, nevermore!

          My bosom yearns
          For him alone;
          Ah, dared I clasp him,
          And hold, and own!

          And kiss his mouth,
          To heart's desire,
          And on his kisses
          At last expire!