It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate till you find me.
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.
'Twas on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday ‘fore Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.
My mother said to me not to be talking with you
today, tomorrow, or on that Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.
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