I am indifferent to my own songs — I will go with
him I love,
It is to be enough for us that we are together — We never separate again.
9.
Hours continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted,
Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my hands ;
Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding swiftly the country roads, or through the city streets, or pacing miles and miles, stifling plaintive cries ;
Hours discouraged, distracted — for the one I cannot content myself without, soon I saw him content himself without me ;
Hours when I am forgotten, (0 weeks and months are passing, but I believe I am never to forget I)
Sullen and suffering hours ! (I am ashamed — but it is useless — I am what I am ;)
Hours of my torment — I wonder if other men ever have the like, out of the like feelings ?
Is there even one other like me — distracted — his friend, his lover, lost to him ?
Is he too as I am now ? Does he still rise in the morning, dejected, thinking who is lost to him ? and at night, awaking, think who is lost ?