In Her Life
Of all the sorrows that so govern her generous heart,
Her love is the most unfair thing breaks her apart;
In her life everything is already signed and sealed –
And she evermore solemnly griefs her soul appealed
To cheat, to relinquish, or to commit suicide and die
The death that shall liberate her of her perpetual cry.
Has providence deserted her, so unkindly in all facets of life
That she so feels old, unhappy and like a desperate housewife?
For alone she weeps, breathless with melancholy; her pouring tears
Desolate with bitterness, anger and incessant grief of discovered fears.
Her heart is weak, her soul is weaker –her life is a scornful jest;
No endless joy, or liberty of love (a nice little girl by love depressed.)
‘Tis hard to dissever when love & pity have been merged in dim,
When all that she wants is to love and to be fairly loved by him.
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