The poem
My neighbour's curtain, well I see,
Is moving to and fin. No doubt she's list'ning eagerly,
If I'm at home or no.
And if the jealous grudge I bore
And openly confess'd, Is nourish'd by me as before,
Within my inmost breast.
Alas! no fancies such as these
E'er cross'd the dear child's thoughts. I see 'tis but the ev'ning breeze
That with the curtain sports.
1803.