Page:The Farmer's Bride (New Edition).djvu/51

 H! King who hast the key Of that dark room, The last which prisons us but held not Thee, Thou know'st its gloom. Dost Thou a little love this one Shut in to-night, Young and so piteously alone, Cold—out of sight? Thou know'st how hard and bare The pillow of that new-made narrow bed, Then leave not there So dear a head!