Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. " "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him.
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