Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/68

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shaken off the painful, painful sleep
 * Unvisited by happy dreams;
 * Ere the first ray of sunlight gleams

Upon the hill—thereon in dark I creep.
 * With smiling Nature, waking up,

The young bird twitters under the white-thorn in flower; Its mother brings it sweet, soft food this hour;
 * Mine eyes are like an over-brimming cup.
 * Ah! Wherefore have I not a mother?

Wherefore am I not like that young bird Whose nest is balanced on the boughs wind-stirred?
 * Nothing on earth is mine—no brother—

Not even a cradle had I; on a stone
 * Before the village church I had been left;

A passer found me lying all alone,
 * Homeless and friendless, and of help bereft.

Far from my banished parents, never known, Of all caresses ignorant I live, And the children of the valley never own Or call me sister, or aught in kindness give. I never join in games of evening's hour When women spin and children stories hear. Under his roof of thatch, that trees embower, The peasant never calls me when I'm near.