The branches o’ the woodbine hide
My little cottage wall,
An’ though ’tis but a humble thatch,
I envy not the hall.

The wooded hills before my eyes
Are spread both far and wide;
An’ Nature’s grandeur seems to dress,
In all her lovely pride.

It is, indeed, a lovely spot,
O’ singing birds an’ flowers;
’Mid Nature’s grandeur it is true,
I pass away my hours.

Yet think not ’tis this lovely glen,
So dear in all its charms;
Its blossomed banks and rippled reels,
Freed from the world’s alarms.

O welcome, lovely summer,
Wi’ thi golden days so long,
When the throstle and the blackbird
Do charm us wi’ ther song;
When the lark in early morning
Takes his aerial flight;
An’ the humming bat an’ buzzard
Frolic in the night.

O! welcome, lovely summer,
With her rainbow’s lovely form;
Her thunner an’ her leetnin’,
An’ her grandeur in the storm:
With her sunshine an’ her shower,
An’ her whirlin’ of the dust,
An’ the maiden with her flagon,
To sleck the mower’s thirst.

O! welcome, lovely summer,

He heard it first upon the lips of love,
And loved it for love’s sake;
A faithful word, that knows nor time nor change,
Nor lone heart-break.

It sung across his heart-strings like a breath
Of Heaven’s faithfulness, that whispered “Never
To part, to lose, to linger from your gaze.”
She said, “I love for ever.”

He heard it then upon the lips of death,
Of things that fade and die;
A word of sorrow never to be stilled,
An ever echoing sigh.

And loneliness within his soul did dwell,

I

The young moon is white,
But the willows are blue:
Your small lips are red,
But the great clouds are grey:
The waves are so many
That whisper to you;
But my love is only
One flight of spray.


II

The bright drops are many,
The dark wave is one:
The dark wave subsides,
And the bright sea remains!
And wherever, O singing
Maid, you may run,
You are one with the world
For all your pains.


III

Here in the silent doorway let me linger
One moment, for the porch is still and lonely;
That shadow's but the rose vine in the moonlight;
All are asleep in peace, I waken only,
And he I wait, by my own heart's beating
I know how slow to him the tide creeps by,
Nor life, nor death, could bar our hearts from meeting;
Were worlds between, his soul to mine would fly.

Oh, shame! to think a heap of paltry metal
Should overbalance manhood's noblest graces;
A film of gold had gilt his worth and honor,
Warming to smiles the coldness of their faces;

Lift up your brown eyes, darling,
Not timidly and shy,
As in the fair, lost past, not thus
I'd have you meet my eye.
But grave, and calm, and earnest,
Thus bravely should we part,
Not sorrowfully, not lightly,
And so farewell, dear heart.

Yes, fare thee well, farewell,
Whate'er shall me betide
May gentlest angels comfort thee,
And peace with thee abide;
Our love was but a stormy love,
'Tis your will we should part--
So smile upon me once, darling,
And then farewell, dear heart.

But lay your hand once on my brow,

Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day,
Sat where a river rolled away,
With calm sad brows and raven hair,
And one was pale and both were fair.

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown,
Bring forest-blooms of name unknown;
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild,
To strew the bier of Love, the child.

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep,
His eyes, that death may seem like sleep,
And fold his hands in sign of rest,
His waxen hands, across his breast.

And make his grave where violets hide,
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side,

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
The forms of men shall be as they had never been;
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green;
The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song,
And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long;
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills,
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills.
The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox,
The wild-boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks,

The earth was sown with early flowers,
The heavens were blue and bright--
I met a youthful cavalier
As lovely as the light.
I knew him not--but in my heart
His graceful image lies,
And well I marked his open brow,
His sweet and tender eyes,
His ruddy lips that ever smiled,
His glittering teeth betwixt,
And flowing robe embroidered o'er,
With leaves and blossoms mixed.
He wore a chaplet of the rose;
His palfrey, white and sleek,
Was marked with many an ebon spot,
And many a purple streak;
Of jasper was his saddle-bow,

Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science--but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.

As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles fresh in heaven's pure air,
The children, Love and Folly, played,
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right--
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,