Classic Poem

O, MAIDEN , maiden,
Thou hast black eyes:
Will they deceive me,
Will they despise?

" No! were they blacker,
Never would they,
Never — despise thee,
Never betray! "

Crows gather acorns
On the oak-tree;
God alone knoweth
Whose she shall be.

W HOSE but mine — she swore
Mine to be of yore;
'Twas behind our dwelling, she
Swore it 'neath the greenwood tree,
Mine alone to be.

C OME — be the meadows
Love's vernal scene —
And I will buy thee
Garments of green.

D ELICATE garments,
Which thou shalt wear
Short and becoming —
Speed we, my fair!

S PEED we o'er mountain,
Valley, and hill —
Our nuptial music
Shall be a rill.

A ND the green-turf, love,
Our bed of down;
There will we slumber,
Loving — alone —
Thou — thou mine own!