Early Woods, The: 3 -

Oh, sweetheart, had I known thee in those days!
How sweet thine eyes were in the early air
Of life when all fair things are yet more fair;
How softly thou didst thread the forest-ways.
The breeze of morning wantoned with thy hair
As thou didst wander through the wooded hollow:
Oh, had mine eager heart been there to follow,
What fruit of joy life might have had to bear!

'Tis late to meet when the chill woods are grey,
No longer rose-flushed with the dawn of day
And beautiful with bloom of early dreams;
The rose is not so red, the lily shines
Less white, less fragrant are the forest-pines,
And hushed is half the laughter of the streams.
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