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...