And so I wonder what you think of me,
Of those years of the yonder that I spent with thee.
Happiness and brightness maketh me,
But does despair rear her head, doesn't she?
I trip her, I fight her, I hide her,
She snarls at me like an angry cur.
Now I wonder what you think of me,
As I lose my face before thee.
And as you dodge my question,
You must note this suggestion:
A poetess, a songstress, you think I shall be,
But a damsel in distress you'll find in me.