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!