Is she so fair, is she so sweet, that you must need desert me?
I saw you kiss her twice and thrice behind the maple row,
And each caress you gave to her did like a dagger hurt me.
Why should for her and for her smiles your heart a moment hunger?
What though her shape be trim as mine, her face a trifle younger?
She does not look so young to you as I when we were wed;
She can not speak more sweet to you than words that I have said;
She can not love you half so well as I, when all is done;
And she is not your wedded wife—the mother of your son.
O Rob, you smile and toss your head; you mock me in your soul;