| |
| HER casement like a watchful eye | |
| From the face of the wall looks down, | |
| Lashed round with ivy vines so dry, | |
| And with ivy leaves so brown. | |
| Her golden head in her lily hand | 5 |
| Like a star in the spray o’ the sea, | |
| And wearily rocking to and fro, | |
| She sings so sweet and she sings so low | |
| To the little babe on her knee. | |
| But let her sing what tune she may, | 10 |
| Never so light and never so gay, | |
| It slips and slides and dies away | |
| To the moan of the willow water. | |
| |
| Like some bright honey-hearted rose | |
| That the wild wind rudely mocks, | 15 |
| She blooms from the dawn to the day’s sweet close | |
| Hemmed in with a world of rocks. | |
| The livelong night she doth not stir, | |
| But keeps at her casement lorn, | |
| And the skirts of the darkness shine with her | 20 |
| As they shine with the light o’ the morn, | |
| And all who pass may hear her lay, | |
| But let it be what tune it may, | |
| It slips and slides and dies away | |
| To the moan of the willow water. | 25 |
| |
| And there, within that one-eyed tower, | |
| Lashed round with the ivy brown, | |
| She droops like some unpitied flower | |
| That the rain-fall washes down: | |
| The damp o’ the dew in her golden hair, | 30 |
| Her cheek like the spray o’ the sea, | |
| And wearily rocking to and fro, | |
| She sings so sweet and she sings so low | |
| To the little babe on her knee. | |
| But let her sing what tune she may, | 35 |
| Never so glad and never so gay, | |
| It slips and slides and dies away | |
| To the moan of the willow water. | |
| |
