And April breezes stir the sedge,
Along the brimming river's edge
I trail my line for silver trout,
And smoke, and dream of you, my lass,
And wonder why we two fell out,
And how the deuce it came about.
II.
When swallows sheer the meadow-mere
And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns,
Along the mill-pond's reedy rims