A path across a meadow fair and sweet,
Where clover-blooms the lithesome grasses greet,
A path worn wmooth by his impetuous feet.
A straight, swift path—and at its end, a star
Gleaming behind the lilac's fragrant bar,
And her soft eyes, more luminous by far!

A path across the meadow fair and sweet,
Still sweet and fair where blooms and grasses meet—
A path worn smooth by his reluctant feet.
A long, straight path—and, at its end, a gate
Behind whose bars she doth in silence wait
To keep the tryst, if he come soon or late!

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