Fled is the charming bloom that nature spread }
Upon her cheek, the pure, the rosy red— }
This, and the look serene, the calm, kind look, are fled. }
Sorrow and sadness now the place possess,
And the pale cast of anxious fretfulness.
She wonders much—as, why they live so ill;
Why the rude butcher brings his weekly bill; 100
She wonders why that baker will not trust,
And says, most truly says,—“Indeed, he must.”
She wonders where her former friends are gone—