Golden Eyes

‘AH, Golden Eyes, to win you yet, I bring mine April coronet, The lovely blossoms of the spring, For you I weave, to you I bring These roses with the lilies set, The dewy dark-eyed violet, Narcissus, and the wind-flower wet: Wilt thou disdain mine offering? Ah, Golden Eyes!

Crowned with thy lover’s flowers, forget The pride wherein thy heart is set, For thou, like these or anything, Has but a moment of thy spring, Thy spring, and then—the long regret! Ah, Golden Eyes!’