When Lydia

When Lydia smiles, I seem to see

The walls around me fade and flee;

And, lo, in haunts of hart and hind

I seem with lovely Rosalind,

In Arden‘ neath the greenwood tree:

The day is drowsy with the bee,

And one wild bird flutes dreamily,

And all the mellow air is kind,

When Lydia smiles.

Ah, me! what were this world to me

Without her smile!— What poetry,

What glad hesperian paths I find

Of love, that lead my soul and mind

To happy hills of Arcady,

When Lydia smiles!