Joyously, utterly—never by stealth!
I am not your wife while you treat me thus,
And life is becoming too hard to bear;
Is there that in the heart of one of us,
That the heart of the other must not share?
'I almost died when you left me, my dear;
Yet you did it quite for my good, you know;
O where should I be if I was not here?
'Neath a little grass hillock lying low!
You would be living, to labour and strive,