Poetry Archives

The hills far-off were blue, blue,
 The hills at hand were brown;
And all the herd-bells called to me
 As I came by the down.

The briars turned to roses, roses;
 Ever we stayed to pull
A white little rose, and a red little rose,
 And a lock of silver wool.

Nobody heeded,—none, none;
 And when True Love came by,
They thought him naught but the shepherd-boy.
 Nobody knew but I!

The trees were feathered like birds, birds;
 Birds were in every tree.
Yet nobody heeded, nobody heard,
 Nobody knew, save me.

And he is fairer than all—all.
 How could a heart go wrong?
For his eyes I knew, and his knew mine,
 Like an old, old song.