In sweet remembrance of the days
When, duteous in the lowly vale,
Unconscious of my Oscar's gaze,
She filled the fragrant pail.
And, duteous, from the running brook,
Drew water for the bath; nor deem'd
A king did on her labor look,
And she a fairy seemed.
But when the wintry frosts begin,
And in their long-drawn, lofty flight