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Elegy

Long evenings full of longing

Low-spirited my mornings

Full of longing too my nights

And all the time the bitterest.

'Tis my lovely I long for

It is my darling I miss

My black-browed one I grieve for.

There's no hearing my treasure

No seeing my marten-breast

No hearing her in the lane

Driving below the window

Chopping the wood by the stack

Clinking outside the cook-house:

In the earth my berry lies

In the soil she's mouldering

Under the sand my sweet one

Beneath the grass my trasure

The one I grieve for.

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