My Love! there is a mighty beechen tree,
That spreads large arms above a babbling brook,
Where happy children read in love's fresh book;
It stands in red leaves now up to the knee,
Though late the cold snow kissed it, and was free
To touch its aged head.—Why memory took
This journey wondrous seems, but as I look
With steadfast eyes, thou art revealed to me,
Pale primroses within thine hand, found there,
Thy thoughts scarce known unto thyself perchance,
But I remember when some violets fair
Were plucked by old tree roots, and by a glance
I saw they harmonized with golden hair;—
Thou know'st where they were placed all through the dance.