"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!" |