When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well,

Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,

Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth’s bright glow,

He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller’s hazel eyes

Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft when the wine in his glass was red,