| |
| SHE sat beside the mountain springs, | |
| Her feet were on the water’s brink, | |
| And oft she wept when she beheld | |
| The birds that lighted there to drink; | |
| She wept: but as they spread their wings, | 5 |
| Her sweet voice follow’d them on high: | |
| “He will return—I know him well; | |
| He would not leave me here to die.” | |
| |
| And there she sat, as months roll’d on, | |
| Unmindful of the changing year; | 10 |
| She heeded not the sun, or snow, | |
| All seasons were alike to her. | |
| She look’d upon the frozen stream, | |
| She listen’d to the night bird’s cry: | |
| “He will return—I know him well; | 15 |
| He would not leave me here to die.” | |
| |
| And still she sits beside the springs, | |
| And combs the gold drips of her hair; | |
| Red berries for a bridal crown | |
| At early morn she places there. | 20 |
| At every shadow on the grass | |
| She starts, and murmurs with a sigh, | |
| “He will return—I know him well; | |
| He would not leave me here to die.” | |
| |
