And evil hours draw nigh, but knowest thou not,
That what thou fleest is the common lot
Of all thy sisters? Thou must be the bride
Of one thou lovest not, must toil for him,
Watch for his coming, and endure his whim;
Must share his tent, and lying at his side
Weep for another till thine eyes grow dim.
And he, so fondly loved, will pass thee by
Indifferent with cold averted eye;
E’en he, whose wanton hands and hated arms