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 BRACELET: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK LINES; SUGGESTED BY GRAVES TWO ENGLISH SOLDIERS ON CONCORD by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SONNET: 57 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE OSTRA by ELLEN FRANCES BALDWIN QUATORZAINS: 11. A CLOCK STRIKING AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE LAST MAN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE FOURE MONARCHIES: ASSYRIAN. SEMIRAMIS by ANNE BRADSTREET |