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.
O 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.
