Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."
Then she spoke of the time when the basket there
Was filled to the very brim,
And how there remained of the goodly pile
But a single pair—for him.
"Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light,
There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
"I cannot but think of the busy feet,
Whose wrappings were wont to lie
In the basket, awaiting the needle's time,