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All day long, in unrest,
To and fro, do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart .... in my bosom faints
To think of you, my Queen!
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
THE BABY HOUSE
My father built a baby house,
To keep me from the men;
My mother made a window to it,
To see them now and then.
But sight was not enough for me,
I long'd for one within;
So Art, one day, contrived a way
To let a lover in!
My father soon found out my tricks,
And hired, with wond'rous care,
A brace of old Duennas rude,
To watch me every where.
But Love then lent my lover wings,
An entrance fleet to win-
He ran all round the baby house,
And stole me from within.
O, were I in that baby house,
I'd make a vow sincere-
No serenading lover should
My casement wander near.
No pretty little winning song,
Through Love should breathe the strain,
Should lure me from that baby house,
Or tempt me out again?