All around the jailhouse

All around the jailhouse, I grieve
and dare not show my discontent.

Long have I beat with timid hands
upon life’s leaden door.

My Queen her sceptre did lay down:
one face looks out from all her canvases.

Still the walls do not fall, the winter
being over when I was a girl by the stream.

. . . . . . .

spb: so