When Summer o'er her native hills
A veil of beauty spread,
She sat and watched her gentle fold,
And twined her flaxen thread.
The mountain daisies kissed her feet,
The moss sprung greenest there;
The breath of Summer fanned...
Why bends she o'er that glittering toy
With such an earnest gaze,
As if those flashing jewels cast
Love glances in their rays?
By that high, thought-enthronéd brow—
That deep and soul-lit eye,
I know 'tis not the passing...