Slighted
AH me! my heart is like to break,
The envied rose upon my cheek,
The blood red rose is cold and bleak
Now Robin slighteth me.
Alas! a shadow lone and pale
I all unheard my lot bewail;
He listens to another’s tale,
He hath no ear for me.
Could he but look upon my grief
Would he not try to bring relief?
I feel my days below are brief,
So deep the wound I dree.
I trail about I know not how;
I like a thief slink down the row,
For well behind my back I know
The rest all laugh at me.
The rest to one the other wink
Whenever down the row I slink;
Their hearts are filled with glee to think
How he my bane should be.
The very bairns have caught their words,
As notes are caught by mocking birds,
By jibes are rent my bosom chords,
And grief is killing me.
I feel my days on earth are brief;
Ah! could he look upon my grief
Would he not try to bring relief?
Would he not kinder be?
I dreamed last night to me he came;
A blush was on his cheek for shame;
He took my hand, he breathed my name;
He gave such looks to me—
Such looks? No sun will rise to set
When I forget those looks, forget
Those star-bright eyes, those eyes of jet
That wiled my heart from me.
The vision fled, and I was left
To mourn a lot of hope bereft—
To mourn what won my heart, and cleft,
And oh, the agony!
Dear Robin—Dear? Without a peer,
And yet to me so dear, so dear!
Ah, fare-thee-well! and may’st thou ne’er
Be doomed to sigh like me!
Autres oeuvres par Joseph Skipsey...
