THE SORROWS OF CHARLOTTE
The Sorrows of Werther, that is the Book,
Little girl of mine. Will I show you what
His sorrows were like? Such a brown-eyed look
Could hardly see. Never mind, they were not
Such sorrows, I fancy as yours or mine,
But such as in pictures look so fine,
And such as can end – in a pistol shot.
“Is any one else in the Book?” (I knew
She would ask me that.) Yes, Charlotte is there.
“Then is it the Sorrows of Charlotte too?”
No, child, for never a man would care
To write such a long sad story, you see,
As the – cutting of bread-and-butter would be;
And never a woman had time to dare!
The Sorrows of Werther, that is the Book,
Little girl of mine. Will I show you what
His sorrows were like? Such a brown-eyed look
Could hardly see. Never mind, they were not
Such sorrows, I fancy as yours or mine,
But such as in pictures look so fine,
And such as can end – in a pistol shot.
“Is any one else in the Book?” (I knew
She would ask me that.) Yes, Charlotte is there.
“Then is it the Sorrows of Charlotte too?”
No, child, for never a man would care
To write such a long sad story, you see,
As the – cutting of bread-and-butter would be;
And never a woman had time to dare!