And didst thou smile even by graves, despite
Thy pity for the dead?
Thy father cometh home, leave the door open—
Loved'st thou strawberries and raspberries,
Because they are as red as maidens' lips?
Didst thou love thy girdle for its many pearls,
The river and the wood, because they lie
So close behind the village?
Didst love the beating of thy heart,
There close beneath thy bodice,