Margaret At Her Spinning-Wheel.

My heart is sad,     My peace is o'er;     I find it never     And nevermore.     When gone is he,     The grave I see;     The world's wide all     Is turned to gall.     Alas, my head     Is well-nigh crazed;     My feeble mind     Is sore amazed.     My heart is sad,     My peace is o'er;     I find it never     And nevermore.     For him from the window     Alone I spy;     For him alone     From home go I.     His lofty step,     His noble form,     His mouth's sweet smile,     His glances warm,     His voice so fraught     With magic bliss,     His hand's soft pressure,     And, ah, his kiss!     My heart is sad,     My peace is o'er;     I find it never     And nevermore.     My bosom yearns     For his form so fair;     Ah, could I clasp him     And hold him there!     My kisses sweet     Should stop his breath,     And 'neath his kisses     I'd sink in death!