Three Songs , opus 2

In the scented bud of the morning -- O,
  When the windy grass went rippling far,
I saw my dear one walking slow,
  In the field where the daises are.

We did not laugh and we did not speak
  As we wandered happ'ly to and fro;
I kissed my dear on either cheek,
  In the bud of the morning -- O!

A lark sang up from the breezy land,
  A lark sang down from a cloud afar,
As she and I went hand in hand
  In the field where the daisies are.

With rue my heart is laden
 For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
 And many a lightfoot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping
 The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping 
 In fields where roses fade.

As down the road she wambled slow,
She had not got a place to go:
She had not got a place to fall
And rest herself - no place at all!
She stumped along, and wagged her pate;
And said a thing was desperate.

Her face was screwed and wrinkled tight
Just like a nut - and, left and right,
On either side, she wagged her head
And said a thing; and what she said
Was desperate as any word
That ever yet a person heard.

I walked behind her for a while,
And watched the people nudge and smile:
But ever, as she went, she said,
As left and right she swung her head,
"O God He knows: And, God He knows!
And, surely God Almighty knows!"