4 Motivations for Baritone and Piano, op. 21

The days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a [doleful]1 song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
  Save thee, my pretty Love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
  Then why so busy thou?

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
[On the window pane bedropped]2 with rain:
Then, little Darling! sleep again,
  And wake when it is day. 

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There is a change -- and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.

What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? Shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love -- it may be deep -- 
I trust it is, -- and never dry:
What matter? If the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
 -- Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

Could I but ride indefinite,
  As doth the meadow-bee,
And visit only where I liked,
  And no man visit me,

And flirt all day with buttercups,
  And marry whom I may,
And dwell a little everywhere,
  Or better, run away

With no police to follow,
  Or chase me if I do,
Till I should jump peninsulas
  To get away from you,—

I said, but just to be a bee
  Upon a raft of air,
And row in nowhere all day long,
  And anchor off the bar, —
What liberty! So captives deem
  Who tight in dungeons are.