The sport he took in such ill part,
He stuck an arrow in my heart.
And ever since, I have such pain,—
I cannot draw it out again.
And yet, the strangest part is this:
I love the pain as though 't were bliss.
AN OLD REFRAIN
It seems to me as I think of her,
That my youth has come again:
I hear the breath of summer stir
The leaves in the old refrain:
"Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be?
I will seek my Love, with the wings of a dove,
And pray her to love but me."
The flower-kissed meadows all once more
Are green with grass and plume;
The apple-trees again are hoar
With fragrant snow of bloom.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
The meadow-brook slips tinkling by
With silvery, rippling flow,
And blue-birds sing on fences nigh,
To dandelions below.
Oh! my Lady-love, Oh, my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
I hear again the drowsy croon
Of honey-laden bees,
And catch the poppy-mellowed rune
They hum to locust trees.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady-love be? etc.
Far off the home-returning cows
Low that the Eve is late,
And call their calves neath apple-boughs
To meet them at the gate.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.