Along the garden ways just now
    I heard the flowers speak; 
The white rose told me of your brow,
    The red rose of your cheek; 
The lily of your bended head,
    The bindweed of your hair: 
Each looked its loveliest and said
    You were more fair.

I went into the wood anon,
    And heard the wild birds sing 
How sweet you were; they warbled on,
    Piped, trilled the self-same thing. 
Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause,
    The burden did repeat, 
And still began again because
    You were more sweet.

And then I went down to the sea,
    And heard it murmuring too, 
Part of an ancient mystery,
    All made of me and you. 
How many a thousand years ago
    I loved, and you were sweet-- 
Longer I could not stay, and so
    I fled back to your feet.