(My silver watch, paraded once, is in another’s care).
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more, ah me!
Shall I whirl upon my bicycle through tollgates running free.
Evening shall darken on the earth, and over hill and plain,
While I must needs with weary step slow tramp it home again.
Yes, I must go, though barked my knees, a bump above my eye;
Although I’m lame and scarce can wheeze, I yet to trudge must try.
My big black eye will grow more black, more tired become my feet,
And vainly shall I stretch my legs thy treadles’ whirl to meet.
Only in sleep shall I behold thy smart lamp gleaming bright,