Catherine, 8

Each person to this feast enchanting
His mistress takes, and with delight
Roams in the blooming summer night.
I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.

Like some sick man, I wander all lonely,
And far from the mirth and dancing go,
The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glow
My thoughts are away, and in England only.

I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses,
Distractedly and full of woe,
And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow;
My heart soon withers along with the posies.