Have I not seen it?
I gather her flowers--beautiful flowers; I climb the rocks where you would never dare to go to find them; you pluck a piece of orange bloom in the garden and give it to her.

What does she do ?--she takes the orange bloom, she puts it in her breast, and lets my flowers die.

I call to her--she does not hear me--she is thinking.

You whisper to some one far away, and she hears and smiles.

She used to kiss me sometimes; now she kisses that white brat you brought, because you brought it.