Part 4 — THE SECRET SORROW. PUNCH
Reading edition
Oh! let me from the festive board To thee, my mother, flee; And be my secret sorrow shared By thee—by only thee!
In vain they spread the glitt'ring store, The rich repast, in vain; Let others seek enjoyment there, To me 'tis only pain.
There WAS a word of kind advice— A whisper soft and low, But oh! that ONE resistless smile! Alas! why was it so?
No blame, no blame, my mother dear. Do I impute to YOU, But since I ate that currant tart I don't know what to do!