But straight those lovely eyes are at my side....
If ever yet, on roses white and red,
My eyes have fallen, where in bowl of gold
They were set down, fresh culled by virgin hands,
There have I seemed her aspect to behold....
But when the year has flecked
Some deal with white and yellow flowers the braes,
I forthwith recollect
That day and place in which I first admired
Laura's gold hair outspread, and straight was fired....