Wretched, I know, and yet it seems ’twas more
Cruel and wretched than I knew before;
So many years to think how on your day
Joyful you’d come, and found me flown away.
What would you think of me, what would you say?
O love, this little let me call you so;
What other name to use I do not know
O let me think that by your side I sit,
And tell it you, and weep a little bit,
And you too weep with me, for hearing it.