She had endured so long a grief

That from her breast we saw it grow,

Branch, leaf and flower with such a grace

We wondered at the summer place

Which set that harvest there. But oh

The softly, softly yellowing leaf.

She was enclosed in quietness,

Where for lost love her tears were shed.

They stopped, and she was quite alone.

Being so poor, she was our own,

Her lack of all our precious bread.

She had no skull to offer less.

She turned into an island song

And died. They sing her ballad yet,

But all the simple verses tell

Is, Love and grief became her well.

Too well; for how can we forget

Her happy face when she was young!