THE last time that we quarrell'd, love, It was an April day, And through the gushing of the rain, That beat against the window-pane, We saw the sunbeams play. The linnet never ceased its song, Merry it seem'd, and free; -- "Your eyes have long since made it up, And why not lips?" quoth he -- You thought; -- I thought; -- and so 'twas done -- Under the greenwood tree. The next time that we quarrel, love, Far distant be the day, Of chiding look or angry word! We'll not forget the little bird That sang upon the spray. Amid your tears, as bright as rain When Heaven's fair bow extends, Your eyes shall mark where love begins, And cold estrangement ends; -- You'll think; -- I'll think; -- and as of old, You'll kiss me, and be friends. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BURY ME IN A FREE LAND by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER SEVEN TIMES ONE [- CHILDHOOD. EXULTATION] by JEAN INGELOW MY MOTHER'S BIBLE by GEORGE POPE MORRIS LINES WRITTEN IN A CITY COMPOSING-ROOM by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS QUATRAIN: FROM EASTERN SOURCES: 3 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 52. YA HAKK by EDWIN ARNOLD A NIGHT IN JUNE by ALFRED AUSTIN |