Dressed for a working-day.

He mutters, as with wistful eyes
He gazes at them still:
"'Twere easy--were I not too wise--
To do myself some ill...."

2

"An aching sorrow fills my breast,
My heart is like to break;
It leaves me neither peace nor rest,
And all for Grete's sake.

"It drives me to her side, as though
She still could comfort me;
But in her eyes there's something now
That makes me turn and flee.

"I climb the highest hilltop where
I am at least alone;
And standing in the stillness there
I weep and make my moan."

3

Poor Peter wanders slowly by;
So pale is he, so dull and shy,
The very neighbors in the street
Turn round to gaze, when him they meet.