The Maiden.
Once upon a summer morning, whilst I watched the sun adorning
All the hilltops lying round me with an ever-golden hue,
Suddenly I saw a maiden with a basket heavy laden,
Yes, a basket heavy laden with some clothes which looked like new,
And I cried, “My pretty maiden, these look just as good as new;
Have they, pray, been washed by you?”
Ah! distinctly I remember how my soul burned like an ember,
As the maiden’s eyes grew brighter—eyes of such a lovely blue;
How her auburn tresses glistened in the sunlight while I listened,