Pastoral Love

The pied pinks tilt in the wind that worries--
Sing, Oh, the wind and the red o’ her cheek!--
And the slow sun creeps on the rye nor hurries--
And what shall a lover speak?

The toad-flax brightens the flaxen hollows--
Sing, Ay, the bloom and her yellow hair!--
And the greenwood brook a wood-way follows--
And what shall a lover dare?

The deep woods gleam that the sunlight sprinkles--
Sing, Hey, the day and her laughing eye!--
And a brown bird pipes and a wild fall tinkles--
And what may a maid reply?

Hey, the hills when the evening settles!
Oh, the heavens within her eyes!
What will he ask ’mid the dropping petals?
And what will she say with sighs?--

“Look, where the west is a blur of roses!”--
“There’s naught like the rose o’ the cheeks I see!”--
“Look, where the first star’s eye uncloses!”--
“But what of your eyes, my destiny?”