XXXII.
They think my heart is breaking,
In sorrow's bitter yoke,
I too begin to think it,
As well as other folk.
Thou large-eyed little darling,
Do I not always say
I love thee past all telling—
Love gnaws my heart away?
But only in my chamber
I dare express my pain;
For always in thy presence
Quite silent I remain.
For there were evil angels
Who sealed my lips so close.
And oh! from evil angels
Sprang all my wretched woes.