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I've seen the red blood mount a cheek,
 Then tremble to the heart;
Who'd think a passing postman could
 Such agony impart?

The postman's knock! it had not come,
 She felt the sad neglect—
From her own love, her own betroth'd,
 She did not this expect;
She felt it, and she tried to hide,
 And o'er her fair young face
She drew her hand, and then withdrew,
 When gone was ev'ry trace
Of the deep workings of her soul,
 Which varied on her cheek,
And told that tale of wretchedness
 Her lips could never speak.

I felt for her, but did not seem
 To notice her distress.
I thought, were I a youth who had
 Such perfect power to bless
My lady-love, I would not thus
 Give fond hearts such a shock,
But cause them often to rejoice
 When came the postman's knock.