O,
why does Gladys look so sad?
She’s been repining all the week;
She’s
lost the lustre of her eyes,
And all the color of her cheek.
She
takes no interest in balls,
The opera has no charm for her;
And
she, when twilight closes down,
Retires without the least demur.
Is
she in love, or is she ill,
O, why should Gladys be so mute?
It
rained all day, on Sunday last, –
She could not wear her Easter suit.
April
14, 1895
Pub
in Boston
Courier,
Apr.
21,
1895
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