he played,
She stopped her work and listened, and her heart
Swelled painfully beneath her bodice. Swayed
And longing, she would hide from him her smart.
Well, Lottchen, will that do? Then what a start
She gave, and she would run to him and cry,
And he would gently chide her, Fie, Dear, fie.
Im glad I played it well. But such
a taking!
Youll hear the thing enough before Ive done.
And she would draw away from him, still shaking.
Had he but guessed she was another one,
Another violin. Her strings were aching,
Stretched to the touch of his bow hand, again
He played and she almost broke at the strain.
Where was the use of thinking of it now,
Sitting alone and listening to the clock!
Shed best make haste and knit another row.
Three hours at least must pass before his knock
Would startle her. It always was a shock.
She listened -- listened -- for so long before,
That when it came her hearing almost tore.
She caught herself just starting in to listen.
What nerves she had: rattling like brittle sticks!
She wandered to the window, for the glisten
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2016-03-17
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