Classic Poem

My heart, my heart is mournful
Tho' May is full of glee;
High up on the ancient rampart
I lean 'gainst the linden-tree.

Below me in calm unbroken
Glides on the purple moat;
A boy is fishing and whistling
As he drifts along in his boat.

Beyond it, brilliant with colour,
Smiling and peaceful, one sees
Villas, and gardens, and people,
And cattle, and meadows, and trees.

The girls are bleaching linen;
They frolic, and go, and come.
The mill-wheel scatters diamonds;
I hear its distant hum.

A sentry-box is standing
The old, grey tower below;
A young recruit in scarlet
Is pacing to and fro.

He dallies with his musket;
It shines in the sunbeam's red;
He is making ready—presenting—
I wish he would shoot me dead!