Till the strength of the onion makes them strong,
At only the normal rate.
And their eyes are dim with tears,
And ache with the need of sleep.
And watch till the lapse of the lapsing years
Shall make the onions cheap.
Cheap, my love, cheap! Sleep, my love, sleep!
Onions are dear, love, but sentiment's cheap!
II.
Listen! Is it a voice