Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/41

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,