And wrap the rooms in a flood of light.
'Tis then the cabins in the rear,
Low and little and plain and old,
Are vocal with the Negro'a cheer,
For his heart is light when the day is told.
But there's one who sits from the rest apart,
With folded hands and turbaned head,
With a nameless burden upon her heart,
And the light of youth forever fled.
And she sits a swaying to and fro,