��A GIRL'S SONG
THE Mouse and Marne have little waves ;
The slender poplars o'er them lean. One day they will forget the graves
That give the grass its living green.
Some brown French girl the rose will wear That springs above his comely head ;
Will twine it in her russet hair, Nor wonder why it is so red.
His blood is in the rose's veins, His hair is in the yellow corn.
My grief is in the weeping rains And in the keening wind forlorn.
Flow softly, softly, ]\Iarne and Meuse ;
Tread lightly all ye browsing sheep ; Fall tenderly, O silver dews,
For here my dear Love lies asleep.
The earth is on his sealed eyes,
The beauty marred that was my pride ; Would I were lying where he lies,
And sleeping sweetly by his side !
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