A nut-brown Girl was seen to haste;
Wide waving was her unbound hair,
And sun-scorch’d was her bosom bare;
For Summer’s noon had shed its beams
While she lay wrapp’d in fev’rish dreams;
While, on the wither’d hedge-row’s side,
By turns she slept, by turns she cried,
“Ah! where lies hid the balsam sweet,
“To heal the wounds of Marguerite?”
Dark was her large and sunken eye