Never I'll see the old Harry again:
There's a look in his face that makes my heart sink,
For it is a look of a hopeless pain.
Sometimes I hardly can keep down my cries—
I could wring my hands—I could tear my hair—
When an expression comes into his eyes,
Which is the expression of a despair.
He never alludes to the dreadful past;
But when his lips tremble and brow is knit,
I cannot bear it, and cry out at last,