Classic Poem

Yesterday the wind blew
Down the garden walks;
Marigolds, the day through,
Trembled on their stalks.

But to-day the wind's dead,
Marigolds are still:
Miss they what the wind said?
Do they take it ill?

Yesterday my love stood
Hearkening to me;
Fair flower of womanhood,
All a-tremble she.

But to-day she's sad, still,
Makes no true-love sign:
Is her lover to her will?
Is she yet mine?