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HER FIRST SORROW
'T is but a score of hours when he didst swear
My sorrow and my joy to share,
Despite the fates, fore'er;
But now he's gone to cash again his lie;
Others his shame with me will wear,
Why should I die?
Last night his lips my very feet didst burn;
His kisses dropt, my love to earn,
Whichever way he'd turn;
But now he's gone another soul to rob.
Another heart to lure and spurn,
Why should I sob?
He did not kiss me when he said good-bye;
I let him go, not asking why,
Nor do I for him sigh;
He's gone another virgin breast to tear,
He's gone on other lips to die,
Why should I care?
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