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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