I

In girandoles of gladioles The day had kindled flame; And Heaven a door of gold and pearl Unclosed, whence Morning,--like a girl, A red rose twisted in a curl,-- Down sapphire stairways came.

Said I to Love: “What must I do? What shall I do? what can I do?” Said I to Love: “What must I do, All on a summer’s morning?”

Said Love to me: “Go woo, go woo.” Said Love to me: “Go woo. If she be milking, follow, O! And in the clover hollow, O! While through the dew the bells clang clear, Just whisper it into her ear, All on a summer’s morning.”