A Honeycombe

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]1 we did not speak
  As we wandered [happily]2 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.

Sweet/ and delicate
 . . . . . . . . . .

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Come with me, under my coat,
and we will drink our fill
of the milk of the white goat,
or wine if it be thy will.
And we will talk,
until talk is a trouble, too,
out on the side of the hill;
And nothing is left to do,
but an eye to look into an eye,
and a hand in a hand to slip;

and a sigh to answer a sigh;
And a lip to find out a lip!
What if the night be black!
And the air
on the mountain chill!
Where all but the fern is still!
Stay with me, under my coat!
and we will drink our fill
of the milk of the white goat,
out on the side of the hill!

Bee! tell me whence do you come? 
Ten fields away, twenty perhaps, 
Have heard your hum.
If you are from the north, you may 
Have passed my mother's roof of straw 
Upon your way.

If you came from the south, you should 
Have seen another cottage just
Inside the wood.
And should you go back that way, please 
Carry a message to the house
Among the trees. 

Say -- I will wait her at the rock 
Beside the stream, this very night 
At eight o'clock. 
And ask your queen when you get home 
To send my queen the present of
A honeycomb. 

As lily grows up easily,
In modest, gentle, dignity
To sweet perfection,
So grew she,
As easily!

Or as the rose,
That takes no care,
Will open out, on sunny air
Bloom after bloom,
Fair after fair;
Just so did she
As carelessly!

She is our torment without end!
She is our enemy, our friend!
Our joy, our woe!
And she will send
Madness or glee,
To you or me,
And endlessly.

I know a girl, 
And a girl knows me, 
And the owl says, what ? 
And the owl says, who ? 
But what we know 
We both agree 
That nobody else 
Shall hear or see, 
It's all between 
Herself and me : 
To wit ? said the owl, 
To woo, said I, 
To-what, to-wit, to-woo !