I found him fishing down beside the brook,
His rod a snowy branch of flowering may,
Whose spiny thorn he fashioned for a hook.
Small heed had he of any lover’s pain,
Who would not hear the cuckoo’s ringing note,
I cried to him, but cried alas in vain,
He only laughed to watch the dancing float;
And while I wept to see him laughing so,
I heard a voice that whispered one sweet word
Ah Ada, tell me was it “yes” or “no”?