XIX

4 0 00

XIX

I did not speak⁠—I saw her face,

In truth it was enough for me;

I turned about and heard her cry,

“O misery! O misery!”

And there she sits, until the moon

Through half the clear blue sky will go;

And, when the little breezes make

The waters of the Pond to shake,

As all the country know,

She shudders, and you hear her cry,

“Oh misery! oh misery!”