The Dead Lover

I am out here in the rain;
O, my love, let me in
And tomorrow the parson
Will shrive us of sin.

O, woe's me, my love,
There's a man with you there,
With his mouth on your mouth
And his hand on your hair;

And you're happy, and laugh, —
And the lamplight glows red. . . .
So soon I'm forgotten
I think I am dead!
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