CAME, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet, In white, to find her lover; The grass grew proud beneath her feet, The green elm-leaves above her: -- Meet we no angels, Pansie? She said, 'We meet no angels now'; And soft lights stream'd upon her; And with white hand she touch'd a bough; She did it that great honour: -- What! meet no angels, Pansie? O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes, Down-dropp'd brown eyes, so tender! Then what said I? Gallant replies Seem flattery, and offend her: -- But -- meet no angels, Pansie? |