A day came back, a day without compeers,
When with a bright companion long since dead,
In my canoe I flitted o’er the lake,
And our swift paddles scattered pearly tears
Upon the smiling ripples in our wake.
She, my companion, was a little maid
Of somewhat rustic garb, of English speech,
Yet something in her accents quaint and rich,
And the warm tinge upon her cheek, betrayed
The mingling crimson of a darker shade,—