Self-deceit

My neighbour's curtain, well I see, Is moving to and fro. No doubt she's listening 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 evening breeze That with the curtain sports.