"I'LL don my kerchief blue," she said, "And wear my Sunday gown, For every morn, with lightsome tread A youth goes by to town. "And ever as he passes by, Methinks he walks more slow, And glances up, with wistful eye, To where I sit and sew. "And sometimes, with a tender sound He whistles soft and low; How can that gentle youth have found That I love music so? "His flashing eyes reveal his soul, They are so very bright; And ever in his button-hole He sticks a lily white. "He never dons a flaunting rose, But always wears the same; Perhaps it is because he knows That Lily is my name! "I'll wear a wreath of lilies white Methinks, when I'm a bride -- Oh, here he comes, with footstep light -- But -- who walks at his side? "It's some one in a scarlet shawl; Perhaps he calls her fair, But I don't think she's nice at all: I hate that yellow hair! "How can he walk with such a fright? Oh dear, what shall I do? He's given her that blossom white! Is her name Lily too? "But now I look at him, he seems Less handsome than before; His eyes have lost their radiant gleams, His voice is sweet no more. "His hair, methinks, is getting red, His nose less straight appears: I could not such a creature wed, Though he should sue for years! "And other youths for me may sigh, And I may love again, But never, never more will I Watch at the window-pane!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE PLOUGHMAN by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES RONDEAU by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE MOWER'S SONG by ANDREW MARVELL LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 10. THE FAIR by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO THE KING OF THULE by HENRI ALLORGE THE MESSENGER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET IN MEMORY OF AGOSTINO ISOLA, OF CAMBRIDGE, WHO DIED 1797 by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |