He longed to slip from my embrace.
His bosom heaves with discontent,
Deep as from hell the sigh is wrenched;
My heart with dark suspicion beats,
And all my happiness is quenched.
And if I ask of him the cause,
He says the cause in me is found;
That I am vain, the rover I,
And to another's bosom bound.
As if, since I have known his love,