He past, a soul of nobler tone; My spirit loved and loves him yet, Like some poor girl whose heart is set On one whose rank exceeds her own. He mixing with his proper sphere, She finds the baseness of her lot, Half jealous of she knows not what, And envying all that meet him there. The little village looks forlorn; She sighs amid her narrow days, Moving about the household ways, In that dark house where she was born. The foolish neighbors come and go, And tease her till the day draws by; At night she weeps, 'How vain am I! How should he love a thing so low?' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LET NO CHARITABLE HOPE by ELINOR WYLIE TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY by BERNARD BARTON NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1913 by GORDON BOTTOMLEY LYNTON VERSES: 1 by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN ON MAXWELL OF CARDONESS by ROBERT BURNS BE THOU A BIRD, MY SOUL by A. G. C. TO A.L.; PERSUASIONS TO LOVE by THOMAS CAREW |