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87
TO THE NYMPH OF THE WOODLAND
O Maid, bedressed in simple gown
Of forest green and rustic brown,
With but a wild-rose at thy breast
Plucked from around the throstle's nest;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
Of forest green and rustic brown,
With but a wild-rose at thy breast
Plucked from around the throstle's nest;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
O Maid of sunny hair and face,
Fresh as young April's morning grace,
Wreathed in gay smiles though still the dew
Of dawn's about those eyes of blue;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
Fresh as young April's morning grace,
Wreathed in gay smiles though still the dew
Of dawn's about those eyes of blue;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
O Maid, that came'st to greet me where
The butterflies sport high in air,
With grace as dainty, step as light
As theirs in that enraptured flight;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
The butterflies sport high in air,
With grace as dainty, step as light
As theirs in that enraptured flight;
How long ago,
And long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
Dear Maid, no more we meet: those days
Of blessed youth are gone for ever!
Yet naught shall my tired spirit's ways
From their rich memory dissever;
When long ago,
Ah! long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
Of blessed youth are gone for ever!
Yet naught shall my tired spirit's ways
From their rich memory dissever;
When long ago,
Ah! long ago I gave to thee
All that was best of me!
January 1st, 1919.
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