by Jessie Redmon Fauset
Lolotte, who attires my hair,
Lost her lover. Lolotte weeps;
Trails her hand before her eyes;
Hangs her head and mopes and sighs,
Mutters of the pangs of hell.
Fills the circumambient air
With her plaints and her despair.
Looks at me:
'May you never know, Mam'selle
Love's harsh cruelty.'
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Last updated May 02, 2015