Classic Poem

Within the twilight on the hill,
A shepherd-girl I met;
And she was weeping as she went,
Nor may I well forget
The darksome eyes she lifted up,
That bitter tears had wet.

‘My sheep are all astray, astray;
And since the sun arose,
I have been searching all the land
Beyond the meadow-close;
And all my sheep are gone from me,
And none are left to lose.

‘We wandered, all the summer days,
Where any cowslip led.
The little brook came with us, too,
But now the leaves are dead;
The winds blow chill from yonder hill,
And it is dark,’ she said.

‘Oh, all the summer days I piped
An answer to the lark.
My lambs were growing white as stars,
And fair for all to mark;
And they have left me, one by one,’
She said, ‘and it is dark.’

‘Nay, come, thou lonely shepherd-girl,
And find thy sheep with me!
The yellow moon will rise full soon,
And lend her light for thee.
But thou art weary, wandering;
Thine eyes are strange to see.’

‘Lad, I have called them long and long;
Only an echo hears.
The grass blows gray beneath the wind—
As gray as far-off years;
And even if the moonlight shone
I could not see, for tears.’