Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/41

Rh God love her! how it cheered me then To see her there so brave and pretty; So she with needle, I with pen, We slaved and sang above the city. And as across my streams of ink I watched her from a poet’s distance, She stitched and sang… I scarcely think She was aware of my existence.

And then one day she sang no more. That put me out, there’s no denying. I looked—she labored as before, But, bless me! she was crying, crying. Her poor canary chirped in vain; Her pink geranium drooped in sorrow; “Of course,” said I, “she’ll sing again. Maybe,” I sighed, “she will to-morrow.”

Poor child; ’twas finished with her song: Day after day her tears were flowing; And as I wondered what was wrong She pined and peaked above her sewing. And then one day the blind she drew. Ah! though I sought with vain endeavor To pierce the darkness, well I knew My sewing-girl had gone for ever.

And as I sit alone to-night My eyes unto her room are turning… I’d give the sum of all I write Once more to see her candle burning,