Pastoral Love

The pied pinks tilt in the wind that worries-- Sing, Oh, the wind and the red o’ her cheek!-- And the slow sun creeps on the rye nor hurries-- And what shall a lover speak?

The toad-flax brightens the flaxen hollows-- Sing, Ay, the bloom and her yellow hair!-- And the greenwood brook a wood-way follows-- And what shall a lover dare?

The deep woods gleam that the sunlight sprinkles-- Sing, Hey, the day and her laughing eye!-- And a brown bird pipes and a wild fall tinkles-- And what may a maid reply?

Hey, the hills when the evening settles! Oh, the heavens within her eyes! What will he ask ’mid the dropping petals? And what will she say with sighs?--

“Look, where the west is a blur of roses!”-- “There’s naught like the rose o’ the cheeks I see!”-- “Look, where the first star’s eye uncloses!”-- “But what of your eyes, my destiny?”