COLINETTE, the maiden's name, To our hamlet did belong; I, a stripling blithe and young, There to pass the harvest came. She was but a child as yet, And a short boy then was I; February saw her die. Poor little Colinette! When we two together raced Through green lanes and purple heath, How she panted out of breath, What delight my heart embraced! Larks and linnets that we met Seemed to sing our childish love, Birds sang in each copse and grove. Poor little Colinette! One eve we sat on yonder spot; 'Twas the last time ere I departed, The last; we both were heavy-hearted. I loved her, though I knew it not. Hiding the pangs of my regret, I took her hand, and said, 'My dear, Good-bye but till the coming year.' Poor little Colinette! No doubt such tale is very old, Fate that to thousands has occurred, Still one that never can be heard; But tears will hardly be controlled. Since then for many a fair coquette A poet's passion I have proved, But never, never more have loved. Poor little Colinette! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LET ME FORGET by OMA CARLYLE ANDERSON LOVE MAKES THE BEST POETS; AN IDYLLIUM by BION THE MAY DAY GARLAND by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 19 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH ATTUNED by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX |