WHEN maiden loves, she sits and sighs,
She wanders to and fro;
Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,
And to all questions she replies,
With a sad heigho!
’Tis but a little word—“heigho!”
So soft, ’tis scarcely heard—“heigho!”
An idle breath—
Yet life and death
May hang upon a maid’s “heigho!”
When maiden loves, she mopes apart,
As owl mopes on a tree;
Although she keenly feels the smart,
She cannot tell what ails her heart,
With its sad “Ah me!”
’Tis but a foolish sigh—“Ah me!”
Born but to droop and die—“Ah me!”
Yet all the sense
Of eloquence
Lies hidden in a maid’s “Ah me!”