Classic Poem

Here you rest among the valleys, maiden known to but a few,
Here you sleep unsighing, but how oft of yore you sighed!
And how oft your feet elastic trod a measure in the dew
On a green beside the river ere you died!
Where are now the country lovers whom you trembled to be near —
Who, with shy advances, in the falling eventide,
Grasped thee tighter at your fingers, whispered lowlier in your ear,
On a green beside the river ere you died?

All the sweet old country dancers who went round with you in tune,
Dancing, flushed and silent, in the silent eventide,
All departed by enchantment at the rising of the moon
From the green beside the river when you died.