Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,

If I might only love my God and d
But now He bids me love Him and l
Now when the bloom of all my life
The pleasant half of life has quit
My tree of hope is lopped that spr

Bread and milk for breakfast,
And woollen frocks to wear,
And a crumb for robin redbreast
On the cold days of the year.

Growing in the vale
By the uplands hilly,
Growing straight and frail,
Lady Daffadowndilly.
In a golden crown,

A pocket handkerchief to hem —
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
How many stitches it will take
Before it’s done, I fear.
Yet set a stitch and then a stitch

I will tell you when they met:
In the limpid days of Spring;
Elder boughs were budding yet,
Oaken boughs looked wintry still,
But primrose and veined violet

The year stood at its equinox
And bluff the North was blowing,
A bleat of lambs came from the flo
Green hardy things were growing;
I met a maid with shining locks

“Too late for love, too late for j
Too late, too late!
You loitered on the road too long,
You trifled at the gate:
The enchanted dove upon her branch

Is the moon tired? she looks so pa
Within her misty veil:
She scales the sky from east to we
And takes no rest.
Before the coming of the night

Maiden May sat in her bower,
In her blush rose bower in flower,
Sweet of scent;
Sat and dreamed away an hour,
Half content, half uncontent.