GRETCHEN'S ROOM
Gretchen [at her spinning-wheel, alone].
My peace is gone,
-My heart is sore-
I'll find it, ah, never,
No, nevermore!
When he is not near,
My grave is here;
My world is all
Turned into gall.
My poor, poor head
Is all a-craze,
And my poor wits
All in a maze.
My peace is gone,
-My heart is sore-
I'll find it, ah, never,
No, nevermore!
To see him only
At the window I stay,
To meet him only
From home I stray.
His noble form,
His bearing so high,
And his lips so smiling,
And the power of his eye,
His flowing speech's
Magic bliss,
His hands' fond clasp,
And, ah, his kiss!
My peace is gone,
-My heart is sore-
I'll find it, ah, never,
No, nevermore!
My bosom yearns
Toward him to go.
Ah! might I clasp him
And hold him so,
And kiss his lips
As fain would I,
Upon his kisses
To swoon and die!