SHE was but a child, a child, And I a man grown; Sweet she was, and fresh, and wild, And, I thought, my own. What could I do? The long grass groweth, The long wave floweth with a murmur on: The why and the wherefore of it all who knoweth? Ere I thought to lose her she was grown -- and gone. This day or that day in warm spring weather, The lamb that was tame will yearn to break its tether. 'But if the world wound thee,' I said, 'come back to me, Down in the dell wishing -- wishing, wishing for thee.' The dews hang on the white may, Like a ghost it stands, All in the dusk before day That folds the dim lands: Dark fell the skies when once belated, Sad, and sorrow-fated, I missed the sun; But wake, heart, and sing, for not in vain I waited. O clear, O solemn dawning, lo, the maid is won! Sweet dews, dry early on the grass and clover, Lest the bride wet her feet while she walks over; Shine to-day, sunbeams, and make all fair to see: Down the dell she's coming -- coming, coming with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GUERDON by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH CIVILL WARR by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE COMET by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AN OLD DREAM by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE CHIVALRY OF THE SEA by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES A PASTORAL ECLOGUE UPON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY KNIGHT by LODOWICK BRYSKETT THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: DESIRE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |