Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/60

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58

THE MOUNTAIN MAID.

I heard the lark at break of day,
I heard the echoes ring;
A lonely maid, and blithe as they—
What could I do but sing?

But neither lark nor echoes stopped
To listen to my song,
And sometimes into silence dropped—
What could I do but long?

And then one stepping lightly past
Called me his singing dove;
With him to please, the days sped fast—
What could I do but love?

And then! He wearied of my song
And lightly passed me by.
So, left alone to love and long—
What could I do but die?