THE JONQUIL MAID

A little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,

Singing alone,

In a low love-tone,

And the wind swept by with a wistful moan;

For he longed to stay

With the Maid all day;

But he knew

As he blew

It was true

That the dew

Would never, never dry

If the wind should die;

So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.

And while to the Land of the Rose went he,

Singing alone,

In a low love-tone,

A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.

The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,

And her sunset hair

Was woven with care

In a knot that was fit for a Psyche to wear;

And she pressed her lips

With her finger tips,

Threw a sly

Kiss to try

If he'd sigh

In reply,

And said with a laugh,

“Oh, it's not one half

As sweet as I give when there's Some One nigh.”

And while to the Rosebud Land went he,

Singing alone,

In a low love-tone,

A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.

The wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree

At the close of day,

In the twilight gray;

But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away;

And whither she's flown

Will never be known

Till the Rose

As it blows

Shall disclose

All it knows

Of the Maid so fair

With the sunset hair.

And the sad wind comes and sighs and goes,

And dreams of the day when he blew so free,

When singing alone,

In a low love-tone,

A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.