Rose the maiden from her slumbers,
Fresher than the break of dawn,
Binding up her heavy tresses,
Looked she out upon the lawn.

Like a shower of yellow guineas
Flashing back the morning sun,
Crocuses and dandelions
Half the golden fields had won.

From the green and yellow shining,
Flecking it with flakes of white,
Drooping lilies, palest snow-drops,
Spread their petals to the light.

Looking out upon the copse-wood,
As she clasped her simple dress,
Suddenly the thought came o'er her,
"I will seek its wilderness.

"By the brook down in its thicket,
Where the purple violet grows,
I shall find the wild sweetbriar,
And the wind-flower, and--who knows?

"Who knows but my Edgar Lincoln
May be wandering that way,
Tempted by this fragrant morning--
Brightest morning yet of May.

"Oh, I know he loves me dearly,
And he knows I love him well;
That my love is deep and boundless,
More than tongue of mine can tell."

On she wandered, singing lightly
Snatches of some olden song--
How a lord and lowly maiden
Loved each other well and long:

How the haughty claim of station
Came at last to be o'erborne
By a will and faith unbending,
By a love no time could turn.

Singing lightly, on she wandered
Over hill and meadow lone;
Said she "This broad wood and valley
Soon I'll proudly call my own.

"Not one beggar, not one hungered
Shall there be in all the land;
Not one loathing life from hardship,
When I'm lady proud and grand."

Wandering on, she plucked wild flowers,
Flowers filled with morning dew,
Looking backward ever, ever,
Listening for a step she knew.

Press the flowers to thy soft bosom,
Braid them in thy shining hair,
Love them while their tender petals
Fragrant life and freshness wear;

For too soon they'll droop and wither,
Plucked and worn but one short day,
And to