A Silly Song

"O HEART, my heart!" she said, and heard

His mate the blackbird calling,

While through the sheen of the garden green

May rain was softly falling,--

Aye softly, softly falling.

The buttercups across the field

Made sunshine rifts of splendor:

The round snow-bud of the thorn in the wood

Peeped through its leefage tender,

As the rain came softly falling.

"O heart, my heart!" she said and smiled,

"There's not a tree of the valley,

Or a leaf I wis which the rain's soft kiss

Freshens in yonder alley,

Where the drops keep ever falling,--

"There's not a foolish flower i' the grass,

Or bird through the woodland calling,

So glad again of the coming of rain

As I of these tears now falling,--

These happy tears down falling."