Melancholy

MELANCHOLY

I shiver, the night is chill and the woods are wet. Why have you brought me here? isn't my big bed softer than all this pebble-studded moss?

My flowery robe will get all grass-stained and my hair all tangled up with little twigs; my elbow, look at my elbow, how dirty it is already with wet earth.

One time, however, I used to follow him into the wood. . . Ah! leave me awhile. I am sad this evening. Don't speak, just leave me, hands upon my eyes.

Really, can't you wait! are we brute beasts for you to take us so I Leave me alone. You shall not open my lips nor yet my knees. For fear of crying, my very eyes are closed.