It is early in the morning that I saw him coming, going along the road
on the back of a horse; he did not come to me; he made nothing of me;
and it is on my way home that I cried my fill.

When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness, I sit down and I go
through my trouble; when I see the world and do not see my boy, he
that has an amber shade in his hair.

It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you; the Sunday that is last
before Easter Sunday. And myself on my knees reading the Passion; and
my two eyes giving love to you for ever.

O, aya! my mother, give myself to him; and give him all that you have
in the world; get out yourself to ask for alms, and do not come back
and forward looking for me.

My mother said to me not to be talking with you to-day, or to-morrow,
or on the Sunday; it was a bad time she took for telling me that; it
was shutting the door after the house was robbed.

My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe, or as the black
coal that is on the smith's forge; or as the sole of a shoe left in
white halls; it was you put that darkness over my life.

You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me; you
have taken what is before me and what is behind me; you have taken
the moon, you have taken the sun from me; and my fear is great that
you have taken God from me!