With a soft look in her eye;
’Twas a tryst, she waited alone for him,
Her lover, a warrior bold and grim,
’Neath that beauteous evening sky.
“Why tarries my lord?” quoth the maiden fair,
“My love, my love, come to me!”
In her eyes came a look so sweet and rare,
As she gazed to the wood, through the scented air,
Till her eyes could no longer see.
Still she waited there for her warrior bold,