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He listened at the porch that day,

To hear the wheel go on, and on;
And then it stopped, ran back away,

While through the door he brought the sun.
But now my spinning is all done.

He sate beside me, with an oath

That love ne’er ended, once begun :
I smiled—believing for us both,

What was the truth for only one.
And now my spinning is all done.

My mother cursed me that I heard

A young man's wooing as I spun:
Thanks, cruel mother, for that word,-

For I have, since, a harder known!
And now my spinning is all done.


I thought-o God !—my first-born's cry

Both voices to mine ear would drown: I listened in mine agony

It was the silence made me groan!
And now my spinning is all done.

Bury me 'twixt my mother's grave,

(Who cursed me on her death-bed lone) And my dead baby's (God it save !)

Who, not to bless me, would not moan.
And now my spinning is all done.


A stone upon my heart and head,

But no name written on the stone!
Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead,

* This sinner was a loving one-
And now her spinning is all done.'


And let the door ajar remain,

In case he should pass by anon;
And leave the wheel out very plain,-

That He, when passing in the sun,
May see the spinning is all done.


Five months ago, the stream did flow,

The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,

Along the stream, beside the hedge.
Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!

For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,

Shouldst thou change less than they?

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And slow, slow as the winter snow,

The tears bave drifted to mine eyes; And my poor cheeks, five months ago Set blushing at thy praises so,

Put paleness on for a disguise. VOL. III.

Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!

For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, –
It was thy love proved false and frail:
And why, since these be changed enow,

Should I change less than thou ?


I STAND by the river where both of us stood,
And there is but one shadow to darken the flood;
And the path leading to it, where both used to pass,
Has the step but of one, to take dew from the grass,–

One forlorn since that day.

The flowers of the margin are many to see;
None stoops at my bidding to pluck them for me.
The bird in the alder sings loudly and long,-
My low sound of weeping disturbs not his song,

As thy vow did, that day.


I stand by the river, I think of the vow;
Oh, calm as the place is, vow-breaker, be thou !
I leave the flower growing, the bird unreproved ;
Would I trouble thee rather than them, my beloved, -

And my lover that day?

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