Susie

A gentle maid, a dove-like soul, An eye that knows no ill; I met her from her rural walk, Upon yon grassy hill.

Her apron filled with early flowers, And some were lightly bound Into a wreath that sweetly lay Her snowy temples round.

And as I met her on that hill, At twilight's magic hour, My spirit felt her loveliness And own'd her magic power.

And since our meeting on that hill, I still have fondly thought, Of what a store of pleasant dreams, That eve to me hath brought.