CAME, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet,   In white, to find her lover; The grass grew proud beneath her feet,   The green elm-leaves above her:—     Meet we no angels, Pansie?

She said, 'We meet no angels now';   And soft lights stream'd upon her; And with white hand she touch'd a bough;   She did it that great honour:—     What! meet no angels, Pansie?

O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,   Down-dropp'd brown eyes, so tender! Then what said I? Gallant replies   Seem flattery, and offend her:—     But—meet no angels, Pansie?