Not for the world that we know,
But the lovelier world that we dream of
Dost thou, Sweet Woodruff, grow;
Not of this world is the theme of
The scent diffused
From thy bright leaves bruised;
Not in this world hast thou part or lot,
Save to tell of the dream one, forgot, forgot.
Sweet Woodruff, thine is the scent
Of a world that was wise and lowly,