Wearily walking in sorrow and shame!
O gay little girl who comes running back,
You are not, I'm certain, one and the same!
The sky is hid in its lead-coloured pall,
Not a bird utters the least little tone;
The blossoms about me wither and fall;
The change must be in me—and me alone!
* * * * *
I tell them I cannot endure it more;
That the empty house is killing my heart;