Before I thought, it was done,—

And those great grey eyes flashed bright and cold,

Like an icicle in the sun.

I was thinking of the summers

When we were boys and girls,

And wandered in the blossoming woods,

And the gay wind romped with her curls.

And you seemed to me the same little girl

I kissed in the alder-path,

I kissed the little girl’s lips, and alas!