Running down stairs, with a laugh as I ran,
Free as 'the blossom that hangs on the bough'—
I never had given a thought to a man,
And why in the world should I give one now.
Dancing along through the hawthorn-crown'd lane,
'Neath showers of flowers whose name I bear,
Was it not strange I should find Harry Vane
Coming to meet me just then and just there?
Is it for this our two lives have been led,
Each travelling on its different way,