Classic Poem

A lad knows nothing of the woes
That we poor lasses bear,
Among his comrades blithe he goes
And friends his sorrows share.

He has his games, whene'er he please,
He strolls from street to street,
He finds delight in all he sees,
His eyes bright colours meet.

But we poor girls are hid away
We never see the light,
We brood in solitude by day
And weep alone at night.

We live as though in dungeons sealed
Where no men ever come:
Unkissed, uncourted, unrevealed,
Pale prisoners of the home.