alone! Ah, wheresoe'er I go, With woe, with woe, with woe, My anguish'd
breast is aching! When all alone I creep, I weep, I weep, I weep, Alas! my
heart is breaking! The flower-pots at my window Were wet with tears of
mine, The while I pluck'd these blossoms, At dawn to deck thy shrine! When
early in my chamber Shone bright the rising morn, I sat there on my pallet, My
heart with anguish torn. Help! from disgrace and death deliver me! Ah! rich in
sorrow, thou, Stoop thy maternal brow, And mark with pitying eye my
Night. Street Before Margaret's Door
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