He watched a picture come and go;
And sweet Maud Müller’s hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;
And closed his eyes on the garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover blooms.
And the proud man sighed with a secret pain;
“Ah, that I were free again!