THE DESERTED LOVER
I go through wet spring woods alone,
Through sweet green woods with heart of stone,
My weary foot upon the grass
Falls heavy as I pass.
The cuckoo from the distance cries,
The lark a pilgrim in the skies;
But all the pleasant spring is drear.
I want you, dear!
I pass the summer meadows by,
The autumn poppies bloom and die;
I speak alone so bitterly
For no voice answers me.
“O lovers parting by the gate,
O robin singing to your mate,
Plead, plead you well, for she will hear,
‘I love you, dear!’”
I crouch alone, unsatisfied,
Mourning by winter's fireside.
Fate, what evil wind you blow.
Must this be so?
No Southern breezes come to bless,
So conscious of their emptiness
My lonely arms I spread in woe,
I want you so.
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